#i just had this vision and i think its the best thing i ever did | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

solxamber · 2 months ago

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Sync or Sink || Vil Schoenheit

You, an overworked S-Class esper with the survival instincts of a damp sock, catch the eye of SSS-Class guide Vil Schoenheit. He decides you’re his personal fixer-upper project. Shockingly, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

or: Guideverse AU!

Series Masterlist

The world was already hanging on by a thread — economic collapse, melting ice caps, influencers starting cults via TikTok. It was a mess. You’d think that would be enough. You’d hope that would be enough. But no. Some ancient cosmic being — probably named something dramatic like Thar’zul the Chronovore — looked down at Earth and said, “You know what this needs? Fun.”

And by fun, it meant Gates.

Gates are like if cursed portals, radioactive sinkholes, and a haunted Etsy store had a baby. They pop up anywhere and everywhere: in libraries, parking garages, yoga studios, even in the middle of someone’s wedding ceremony. (“Do you take this—OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT?!”)

These glowing tears in the fabric of reality are basically open invitations to every monster, demon, and unholy abomination in the neighborhood. And if left unchecked, they break, releasing those nightmares into your already-taxed existence like a hellish game of whack-a-mole.

But don't worry! Humanity, against all odds, did not die out immediately.

Because the universe, in its infinite chaos, also gave rise to Espers. Special little guys. Think emotional time bombs with telekinetic temper tantrums and the ability to level buildings if they stub their toe too hard. Espers are the only ones who can suppress Gates and fight back the monsters. They're strong, fast, powerful—and also dangerously dramatic.

Like, “cries during dog food commercials” dramatic. “Blew up a vending machine because it ate their dollar” dramatic. If they don’t have someone helping them regulate their powers (and by extension, their feelings), they’re a walking nuclear disaster waiting to happen.

Which brings us to Guides.

Guides are born with the power to soothe, ground, and stabilize Espers before they turn into emotional IEDs. They go through rigorous training. They meditate. They are the human equivalent of “have you tried deep breathing?”—except instead of calming down toddlers, they’re keeping an Esper from melting the freeway with their grief-powered fireballs.

This entire survival system hinges on compatibility between Espers and Guides. Sounds romantic, right? It’s not. It’s mostly screaming, paperwork, and sometimes unspoken sexual tension.

So, to recap:

Gates = Bad.

Espers = Powerful but emotionally unstable.

Guides = The only thing standing between civilization and utter monster-induced ruin.

Together, Espers and Guides form the first — and only — line of defense between humanity and total monster-induced annihilation.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, this system hinges entirely on two people getting along.

Which, as anyone who's ever been in a group project can tell you, is a complete joke.

The Gate had been rough. You were bleeding, caked in monster goop, and running on exactly one granola bar, four energy drinks, and pure spite. Monsters just kept coming—one after another like it was a clearance sale on eldritch horror—and now your knees were shaking, your head was pounding, and you were 99% sure you were hallucinating the talking goat that told you to “go into the light.”

You stumbled out of the Gate zone, vision blurry. There were Guides waiting beyond the perimeter, crisp in their uniforms, radiant with that “I got 8 hours of sleep and drink water” glow. Unfortunately, most of them had already been snagged by the other Espers, who were quicker, cleaner, and not currently dripping ectoplasm from their sleeve.

You blinked. The only one left was… well, no. That couldn’t be right.

Standing a few feet away, untouched and oddly pristine, was a man who looked like he’d walked straight out of a high-end fashion magazine shoot titled "War-Torn But Make It Couture."

Tall, composed, and stunning in a way that made your brain short-circuit, he was clearly someone Important™. The other S-Ranks had actively avoided him, which should’ve been a clue. But your frontal lobe was melting. You didn’t have the bandwidth to care.

You wobbled forward like a dying Roomba, grabbed a handful of his sleek uniform, and mumbled, “Guide. That’s you, right?”

And then you slumped forward and face-planted directly onto his collarbone.

There was a pause.

“…Do you have any idea who I am?” he asked, incredulously.

You groaned. “Yeah. You’re a Guide. You’ve got the badge.”

Another pause. Longer, this time.

He sounded… offended. And faintly intrigued.

“…You don’t recognize me?”

“Should I?” you mumbled into his neck.

You didn’t see the expression on his face, but if your ears weren’t lying, he audibly gasped. Like someone had just told him dry shampoo was canceled. Like the very idea of not being recognized was a personal attack.

But instead of pushing you off, he slowly brought a hand up, fingers grazing your temple. You felt a wave of warmth radiate through your skull like a breath of fresh air had crawled into your ribcage.

It was… good. Too good.

A jolt of relief punched through your nervous system. Your heart rate settled. The Gate static stopped screaming in your ears. Your whole body sagged, weightless and calm, and you barely had time to mutter “holy shit you’re good at this” before your knees gave out completely.

You passed out in his arms.

And Vil Schoenheit—SSS-Rank Guide, national treasure, and walking perfection—stood there holding your limp, grime-covered, unconscious form with a complicated look on his face.

You came back to consciousness the way a phone boots up after being thrown into a wall. Slow, glitchy, and confused.

Something was warm under you. Something was very firm. You blinked a few times, trying to make sense of the strange sensation of not being in pain anymore. The Gate headache was gone. Your soul no longer felt like it had been sandpapered. You were, inexplicably, comfortable.

That’s when you realized: you were still wrapped around the fancy Guide like a human backpack.

Face: mashed against his shoulder. Legs: around his waist. Arms: locked in a desperate hug like a koala going through a rough breakup. And he… was just sitting there. On a recovery bench. Completely calm. Holding you like this was something that happened to him all the time.

“Oh,” you mumbled, sleep-dazed. “My bad.”

He tilted his head, glossy hair catching the light like it had a sponsorship deal with a shampoo brand. “Are you done?” he asked, voice sharp. “Or shall I assume you’ve permanently relocated to my clavicle?”

You peeled yourself off him with all the grace of wet laundry sliding off a countertop. “Thanks for, uh, not letting me die,” you offered, scratching your head.

He stared at you for a long moment. “Do you know who I am?”

You blinked. “…A Guide?”

He inhaled. Visibly. Offended on a spiritual level. The look on his face could’ve soured milk. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Are you actively trying to offend me?”

“What? You’ve got the badge! That’s all I need, right?”

Vil Schoenheit—as he introduced himself—flicked you on the forehead. It was somehow both dismissive and full of judgment. “Recover. Properly.” he snapped, standing in one fluid, graceful motion. “You’re lucky I’m magnanimous.”

He swept out of the room like a disgruntled ballerina.

You blinked after him, rubbing your forehead. “What the hell was that about?”

A nurse walked in and immediately gasped like she'd just witnessed a royal birth. “Oh my Seven—was that Vil?!”

“Vil… who?” you asked, trying not to sound like an idiot.

She turned to you so fast her clipboard flew off the counter. “Vil Schoenheit. SSS Guide. He’s a legend. Do you have any idea how many Espers have tried to bond with him and been turned away in tears?”

You stared at the door where he’d just vanished. “No? He just kinda… guided me.”

The nurse screeched. “YOU JUST KINDA GOT GUIDED—are you INSANE? That man once made a Grade-SS Esper cry because they wore Crocs to an informal debriefing!”

You slowly sat back against the pillow, eyes wide.

“…I told him ‘oops sorry lol.’”

You were still internally combusting about the whole “Oops sorry lol” situation when you finally worked up the nerve to go to Vil’s office. Not to bond—you weren’t delusional—but at the very least, to apologize. Maybe offer him a thank-you fruit basket. Or one of those luxury hair masks. Something.

Espers were better paid than Guides. That wasn’t a flex—it was just how the system worked. You’d always thought it was kind of unfair, but now, standing outside his office, you suddenly felt even worse. Because if Vil was being underpaid to deal with Espers, plural, like you? He deserved hazard pay.

You raised a shaky fist and knocked on the door before pushing it open.

The door opened, and you were hit with the distinct scent of wealth, vintage cologne, and spiritual intimidation. The office looked like it belonged in a magazine titled Power & Passive Aggression: Interiors for the Elite. It had velvet chairs. A chandelier. And on the floor, sobbing, was an SS-ranked Esper.

“Please,” she was whispering, clutching Vil’s coat like he was the last lifeboat on the Titanic. “Please, just once. I know I’m not SSS, but my compatibility score is so close—”

“I don’t guide based on some arbitrary number,” Vil said coolly, extracting himself with the same disdain you'd use to avoid stepping in gum. “I guide based on worth.”

You were already edging away when his eyes snapped up—and softened.

“…What are you doing here?” he asked, voice shifting so drastically in tone it gave you whiplash.

“I—uh. I just wanted to apologize. For, you know. The slumping. And the drool. And the calling you ‘a Guide’ like you’re not the Guide.” You laughed nervously. “Also. Uh. I can repay you?”

He stared at you like you’d offered to give him pocket lint.

Then, without even glancing at the SS Esper still on the floor, he waved a perfectly manicured hand and said, “Leave.”

She looked up, stunned. “W-what?”

“I said leave.” His voice sharpened like glass under velvet. “Now.”

You watched her scramble out in silence. Then Vil turned to you, posture relaxing like you were an entirely different species of Esper.

“Sit,” he said, pointing to the velvet chair.

You obeyed. Of course you did. Your legs moved like they belonged to someone else.

“I didn’t come here to be guided,” you said quickly. “I just thought I’d offer some compensation since you took care of me back at the Gate, and—”

“Hush.”

You blinked.

“I didn’t guide you for compensation,” Vil said, moving closer, “and I certainly don’t require repayment.”

“But I—”

“Do not interrupt me,” he said smoothly, placing his hand just under your jaw and tilting your head with two fingers. “Close your eyes.”

You did.

And just like before, the storm in your chest went still.

He hadn’t even made full contact yet, and already your frayed nerves calmed, your aching muscles relaxed, and that hollow echo left by the Gate quieted.

You opened your mouth to speak again—because, honestly, who wouldn’t panic under that much raw focus—but his voice cut in before a single syllable escaped:

“Did I say you could talk?”

You shut your mouth.

Vil smiled. Like he’d just won something important, and wasn’t ready to tell anyone yet.

“Good. You learn quickly.”

You staggered out of the Gate like a soldier crawling back from the front lines of a war no one believed in. Your clothes were singed, your limbs were shaking, your skin was buzzing with leftover energy that had nowhere to go, and your brain was running the Windows 95 shutdown noise on loop. You had fought monsters for the past hour with all the grace of a dying blender.

Everything hurt. Your body felt like it had been used as a battering ram. Your soul felt like it had been microwaved.

So when you saw the sweet, merciful glow of a Guide badge ahead in the crowd, your instincts took over. You staggered forward like a half-dead Roomba on its last cycle, locked onto the nearest beacon of safety.

The Guide in question had orange hair and the smug look of someone who thought they were God’s gift to humanity despite the fact they were clearly holding a vape pen and a clipboard.

You didn’t care.

You lurched toward him, arms outstretched like a cryptid emerging from the woods.

“BRO NO,” he yelped. “DUDE, I’M NOT CERTIFIED FOR THIS LEVEL OF TRAUMA—DON’T PUKE ON ME—”

But before your forehead could connect with his very punchable shoulder, a blur of movement swept in.

You were yanked back by the collar like an untrained dog trying to bolt into traffic.

“Absolutely not,” a cool, smooth voice said with the unmistakable tone of expensive disdain. “You are not grounding with him.”

You turned sluggishly to your new captor and immediately forgot how to breathe.

Vil. Hair perfect despite the apocalyptic weather conditions of a gate zone. Wearing a coat that probably cost more than your entire existence and looking at you like you were a particularly unfortunate stain on said coat.

You blinked at him. “Am I in trouble?” you mumbled.

Vil arched a brow. “You’re seconds away from slumping onto a Guide who once tried to ground an Esper by playing lo-fi beats through his AirPods. Yes, you’re in trouble.”

You were too tired to be offended.

He sighed, took your hand, and suddenly, bliss.

Like every nerve in your body was dunked in lavender oil and told to shut up. Your breathing evened out. Your vision cleared. Your bones climbed back into their sockets like, “Our bad, we’ll behave now.”

You let him guide you to a nearby bench, too dazed to do anything but follow the magical angel who had just saved you from the worst decision of your life.

Vil sat gracefully. You slumped next to him like a dying cactus in a thunderstorm.

“Post-gate recovery is non-negotiable,” he said, like he hadn’t just watched you nearly expire in public.

You closed your eyes and focused on the cool, steady rhythm of his guidance, and then—

A crinkle.

You opened one eye to see him pull a juice box from his bag. With a bendy straw.

He inserted the straw and handed it to you like you were a toddler who’d just had a very bad day at daycare.

You stared at the juice. Then at him. “Is this for me?”

“No,” he said dryly. “It’s for the other S-class Esper currently drooling on my coat.”

You blinked, deeply touched. You took a sip.

It was… heavenly.

You made a soft noise, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh.

And then—your eyes stung.

“No,” Vil said immediately, without looking at you. “Whatever emotional reaction you’re about to have—don’t.”

You sniffled. “But you brought me juice. Nobody’s brought me juice since I got classified. Everyone just shoves me into Gates and tells me not to die.”

He flicked your forehead. “If you die, I have to find another Esper whose personality doesn’t give me hives. That sounds exhausting.”

“Are you… saying you like me?”

“I’m saying your emotional resilience is marginally less pathetic than average,” he said, adjusting your posture so your head leaned more comfortably on his shoulder. “And I don’t hate your voice.”

You sipped your juice box, trembling like a Victorian child given a warm meal for the first time.

No one had treated you like this since you joined the system. You’d been weaponized, categorized, and told to sit still and kill things on command. You were a tool. A number. A sharp object.

But Vil wasn’t afraid of your sharp edges. He looked you in the eye and said, “That’s a guide badge you’re drooling on, potato. Not a chew toy.”

And then gave you juice.

You sniffled again.

“If you sob, I will end you,” he muttered, but his hand never let go of yours.

And you knew, deep in your wrecked little Esper heart, that you would fight a thousand more gates just to be guided by him again.

Even if he bullied you the entire time.

So apparently, post-gate recovery hadn’t just been juice boxes and emotionally confusing hand-holding.

No. It turned out you had to take something called a Routine Compatibility Check for “guidance efficiency optimization.”

You hadn’t known what any of that meant, but someone had shoved a clipboard at you and told you to “go sit in the glow room and don’t touch anything,” so there you were. Sitting in a sterile white room that smelled like hand sanitizer and despair. Waiting to meet your newly assigned “guidance match.”

A door creaked open.

You turned around—and in walked a guy who looked like he hadn’t seen direct sunlight since the invention of the lightbulb. His shoulders were hunched, hoodie too big, blue glowing hair all mussed like he’d lost a fight with a hairdryer. He had eyebags for days and the posture of a raccoon caught mid-fridge-raid.

He looked at you.

You looked at him.

He looked at you harder—and visibly recoiled like you’d just bit him.

“…Uhhh,” he said, voice high and trembling. “You’re the S-class?”

“Yup,” you replied.

“Oh no.”

This man looked like he was seconds from writing “HELP” on the window with a dry erase marker. His hand was already twitching toward the panic button. He was mentally Googling “what to do when assigned a battle demon.”

You opened your mouth to say something reassuring—like, “Hey, I only explode on some guides,” or “I’ve never actually flattened a building during a meltdown”—

—but the door slammed open behind you.

“Absolutely not.”

You turned around.

Vil Schoenheit stood in the doorway like the wrath of God dressed in Gucci. Impeccable coat. Sunglasses indoors. Holding a coffee cup that you knew wasn’t from the office vending machine.

He eyed the situation—your tentative shuffle toward your new guide, the way the poor guy was gripping his ID badge like a rosary—and his lip curled like someone had just handed him expired tofu.

“I’m taking them,” Vil said flatly to the Guidance Office rep standing nearby. “This is non-negotiable.”

The rep blinked. “But, Mr. Schoenheit, the match—”

“—was laughable. They’re mine.”

Your poor assigned guide looked so relieved it was almost insulting.

“Thank the stars,” he mumbled, already gathering his things like you were a bomb that’d just been safely disarmed. “No offense, but I really don’t do well with… uh… physical contact or eye contact or conflict or—”

You were too stunned to reply as Vil grabbed you by the wrist, effortlessly pivoted on his heel, and strode out of the room with you in tow like a high fashion tornado.

You stumbled after him. “Okay, hi, hello? What was that?”

“I saw your assignment,” Vil said coolly. “I couldn’t, in good conscience, let that continue.”

“But—I thought you weren’t accepting new matches?”

“I’m not.”

You blinked. “So…?”

He glanced over his shoulder at you, slow and deliberate, like you weren’t quite connecting the dots fast enough.

“I didn’t consider you ‘new'.”

You shut your mouth because your brain was full of static. Something about the way he said that made your knees consider filing for divorce from the rest of your body.

He guided you all the way to the elevator, in silence, while you tried to process what had just happened.

You, apparently, had been claimed.

And worst of all?

You thought you might have liked it.

It all started with a noble quest. A simple dream.

You just wanted a hoodie.

Not a fancy one. Not a designer one. Not a limited edition “inspired by the blood of fashion victims” collection. No, no. You wanted one of those oversized, marshmallow-soft hoodies that whispered “lay down and give up, my liege” every time you put it on. The kind of hoodie that could absorb emotional damage.

So there you were. Financially stable (thanks, murder gates), emotionally unstable (thanks, murder gates), and elbows-deep in a display bin labeled “3 for 2: Emotional Support Wear”, when fate struck.

Or rather, sashayed past in four-inch heels and an aura of contempt.

Vil.

You froze. He looked like he’d just walked out of a fashion spread. Every strand of hair in place. Jacket tailored within an inch of its life. Cheekbones that could slice open a space-time rift. And where was he going?

Straight into a boutique so fancy it looked like it would ask you for a résumé just to step inside.

Naturally, you turned the other way. This was not your world. You were not dressed for it. You were wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt with a questionable graphic of a goose wielding a knife. You were simply a humble raccoon-person in search of softness.

But then—

“You.”

Oh no. Oh god. Oh no god.

You turned around slowly, hoodie clutched to your chest like a shield. Vil stood there with shopping bags and the expression of someone who’d just discovered a stray in his favorite restaurant.

“Come. I need hands.”

“Sorry,” you said. “I left mine at home. Can’t help you.”

He blinked. Then, with all the confidence of someone who didn’t hear nonsense, he handed you his bags and turned around, fully expecting you to follow.

And you did. Because unfortunately, curiosity was stronger than shame.

The next hour? Was… actually kind of amazing.

Vil didn’t shop. He conquered. He moved through stores like a well-dressed storm, flinging judgment at poor fabric choices and muttering dark things about asymmetrical hemlines. Store staff parted for him like he was royalty. Other customers wilted under the weight of his gaze.

You, meanwhile, trailed after him like a high-end goblin, carrying his many, many bags, dressed like a sleep-deprived college student who had just lost a fight with a laundry machine.

It was great.

You watched him try on outfits with the kind of reverence usually reserved for museum pieces. He was graceful. Efficient. Disgustingly photogenic. You felt like you were witnessing a documentary: “The Endangered Fashion Icon in His Natural Habitat.”

And then, miraculously, he let you live.

He suggested a coffee break and even let you pay—probably out of pity. You made a mental note to deduct it as a business expense under “accidental deity encounter.”

Sitting across from him, sipping overpriced lattes, you made a joke. Something dumb. Something about a pair of jeans you'd seen that looked like they'd been personally attacked by a cheese grater.

Vil laughed.

You were not prepared.

It was real. Warm. Shockingly cute. Like, “I’ve been guiding murder monsters all week and now suddenly I believe in joy again” kind of cute.

You stared. He looked at you. You looked away, sipping your drink very intently, trying not to say “please laugh again, it heals my soul.”

You didn't say it out loud.

But you thought it really hard.

You walked into Vil's office like a responsible little murder gremlin, fully prepared for your weekly check-up guidance session.

What you were not prepared for was the sheer atmospheric rage brewing inside.

Vil was pacing like a cat who'd just realized its favorite toy was in the hands of a toddler—absolutely done with life. He was muttering to himself under his breath, phrases like, “Espers with zero gratitude... how dare they ask for guidance without a thank-you,” and, “I swear if one more person thinks my time is free like it's some kind of community resource—

He saw you, exhaled the deepest sigh known to man, and pointed at the couch like he was casting a curse. Not a word of greeting. Just The Finger of Sit.

So you sat. For about three seconds.

Then, something in your little gremlin heart said: No. He is cranky. He is suffering. This is a job for Emotional Support Esper.

You got up, walked behind him, and—without a word—started massaging his shoulders.

Vil tensed like a cat about to fight god. Then slowly—slowly—melted into it.

“This isn’t part of your session,” he grumbled, but it lacked bite. His head tilted forward, giving you better access. “You’re not guiding me, you know.”

“I’m aware,” you said, digging your thumbs in just right. “You’re welcome.”

He didn’t reply. Just… breathed. It was weirdly serene. You, massaging one of the most powerful and terrifying guides in the country. Him, finally looking like he wasn’t five seconds away from incinerating someone with nothing but his glare.

Eventually, you sat back down on the couch. And then—shock of all shocks—Vil slumped down next to you.

No dramatic speech. No biting commentary. Just one very exhausted, very overworked guide leaning on your shoulder like gravity had personally betrayed him.

“…Don’t say a word about this,” he murmured, eyes already closed. He reached for your hand, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and held it tight.

You stayed there for a long time.

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak.

You just sat with him in silence, wondering how the hell you’d gone from emotional demolition expert to comfort pillow. And, weirdly, feeling kind of honored.

You weren’t sure how you got home, but judging by the trail of blood, sludge, and crushed energy drink cans leading up the stairs, you had clearly made the journey using sheer spite and possibly a small miracle. Your legs moved on autopilot, powered by rage, trauma, and about four remaining brain cells—none of which were cooperating.

You’d just come back from a gate that had gone so poorly, it might as well have been cursed by the gods, the devs, and your second-grade math teacher. Breach. Casualties. Screaming.

There was definitely a moment where you almost flung a monster into a building and then screamed louder when you realized it was the emergency response building. Whoops.

It wasn’t even your assigned gate. It was a last-minute scramble. You and a handful of other S-rank espers were yanked in because the gate was behaving badly. Like, “snarling, vomiting monsters that defied physics” badly. And you—foolish, heroic, caffeine-soaked gremlin that you were—ran in first like someone had dared you.

You fought. You fought so hard you forgot your own name for about two hours. And still, people died. People always died. But this time, it felt like too many. You saw a little kid’s shoe and had a breakdown mid-punch. You tried to do everything, and your body just… stopped cooperating.

You didn’t even get guided afterward.

Vil wasn't at this gate. The other guides were all assigned or recovering themselves. Some were crying. A few had fainted from strain.

And you? You looked around, felt your knees give out a little, then just muttered “okay cool” and left like a ghost clocking out after a double shift at a haunted Wendy’s.

By the time you reached your apartment, you were so dissociated you forgot how doors worked. You stood outside yours for a full minute before realizing the knob turned left. You walked in, left your boots and weapon where they fell, and didn’t even consider locking the door behind you.

Let fate come. Let a gate burst into your living room. Let some criminal wander in and steal your furniture. That was Future You’s problem. Current You was Busy.

You peeled yourself out of your battle gear like a sad, oversized fruit roll-up, leaving it in a heap that would absolutely start growing mold by tomorrow. You wandered to the kitchen, opened the fridge, stared inside for three solid minutes, and then closed it again. There was nothing in there but expired yogurt, an empty ketchup bottle, and the overwhelming sense of despair. Just like your soul.

Your eyes landed on the couch. You made eye contact. It made eye contact back.

You didn’t go to your bed. The bed had too much hope. The couch? The couch knew. The couch had seen things. It was your emotional support furniture, and it beckoned you with lumpy cushions and the faint scent of Febreze and failure.

You collapsed into it with the grace of a dying walrus, grabbed the nearest throw blanket like a life raft, and curled up.

Your muscles throbbed. Your eyes were dry, too tired to cry. Your heart was heavy and hollow, a contradiction wrapped in fatigue.

You didn’t call the Guidance Office.

You didn’t reach for your communicator.

You didn’t even consider getting guided.

Because why would you?

You hadn’t earned it.

Guidance was for espers who did good. Who came back whole. Who saved people and feel okay about it.

You didn’t want anyone to see you like this. Least of all Vil—the most terrifyingly elegant guide in existence, whose soothing voice could calm a charging bull but whose judgmental stare could reduce you to ash on the spot. You could already imagine it:

“Potato, why didn’t you call?” And you’d go, “Because I sucked. And also I was busy eating my weight in sadness on my couch.”

So no. No guidance. No messages. No crying. Just you, your depression blanket, and your ever-growing collection of trauma under a mountain of emotional avoidance.

You passed out like that, too. Face-down, limbs sprawled, snoring gently, still wearing one sock and gripping the couch cushion like it owed you rent.

And in the hallway, your door remained unlocked.

Because honestly?

Let the monsters come.

You’d either sleep through it or invite them in for leftover yogurt and mutual despair.

You woke up feeling like a truck had hit you, reversed, parked on your spine, and left its high beams on just to be petty. Every bone in your body creaked like an abandoned haunted house. Your mouth tasted like regret and half a protein bar. Your blanket was half off the couch, half on the floor, and a mysterious corn chip was stuck to your elbow.

You blinked at the ceiling in confusion. Then your phone screamed.

100 missed calls.

37 texts.

All from: Vil Schoenheit.

Each message angrier than the last.

The final one simply said: “Pick. Up. Now.”

You did.

The moment the line connected, there was a beat of silence—then his voice, sharp and low like the edge of a knife:

“Address. Now.”

You mumbled something barely coherent, possibly your zip code, possibly the ingredients of a burrito. Either way, you texted him your location, dropped the phone on your chest, and passed out again like a Sims character who ignored every need bar until they collapsed.

The next time you woke up, it was to someone violently shaking you like they were trying to exorcise a demon.

“The door was wide open. Wide. Open. Are you out of your mind?! What if someone broke in?! What if something followed you?! What if—”

You cracked one eye open. Vil was kneeling beside your couch in full luxury casuals, flawless hair tied back in a silk ribbon, eyes blazing with a fury usually reserved for war crimes or off-season fashion.

“Why didn’t you call me?!” he snapped, voice wobbling between fury and panic.

You sat up slowly. Your limbs felt like wet noodles. You looked at him—actually looked at him—and saw the edges of worry in his perfect posture. You didn’t think. You just leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, clinging to his surprisingly warm, cologne-scented form like a soggy baby koala.

He froze.

Then he hugged you back, one arm sliding firmly around your waist, the other hand smoothing over your hair with a tenderness that made your throat tighten.

“You didn’t respond,” he murmured, voice much softer now, like he’d deflated the moment you touched him. “I was at a gate, and you—you should’ve called me. You idiot.”

“I didn’t deserve it,” you croaked, still clinging. “I couldn’t save everyone. I didn’t earn it. I didn’t—”

THWACK.

He flicked you so hard on the forehead you saw colors. You yelped and recoiled, holding your skull like he’d smacked you with a frying pan.

“OW—what the hell, Vil?!”

“Use your brain,” he snapped. “You don’t have to earn guidance. You lived. You fought. You made it back. That’s enough.”

You stared at him, stunned and blinking. Your brain, which had been curled in a ball screaming failure failure failure, screeched to a halt. It didn’t know what to do with this information. It flailed.

“...but—”

“No.” He pressed two fingers to your temple. “Quiet.”

And just like that, warmth bloomed across your skin. Calm, grounding, steady. His presence wrapped around your rattled mind like a weighted blanket.

You hadn’t realized how loud your thoughts had been until everything went quiet.

You slumped forward again, forehead on his shoulder.

“…thank you,” you whispered.

He made a soft, exasperated noise and squeezed your hand.

“Next time,” he muttered, “if you don’t call me, I will drag you to a spa against your will and lock you in a bathhouse for six hours.”

Honestly?

That sounded kind of nice.

You nodded into his shoulder and let the warmth pull you under again.

It wasn’t a thunderbolt moment. There was no dramatic gasp, no heart-skipping beat, no rom-com soundtrack swelling in the background.

No. It happened while Vil was in the middle of passionately criticizing your instant ramen consumption.

“You don’t even check the sodium levels, do you? Of course not. Why would you? That would require basic self-preservation instincts, which you clearly lack,—are you even listening to me?”

You were, actually. Kind of. Mostly you were just watching the way his eyes flashed when he got worked up, how his voice lilted, how his hair caught the light like he had a personal filter on at all times. His hands moved a lot when he was mad—elegant, precise little gestures like he was conducting an orchestra of outrage.

And somewhere in the middle of him saying something about how your body was “not a landfill for factory-processed poison,” you thought:

Wow. He’s perfect.

There was a pause.

A silence that felt loud in your own brain.

Not because he noticed—no, he was still going. But you did. You noticed. And you felt your entire emotional infrastructure collapse like a badly built IKEA table.

You sat there, nodding along, eyes wide and empty like a man realizing he’d dropped his phone into lava. Because you knew exactly what this meant.

You were so, so screwed.

You didn’t even try to deny it. You were too tired for that. Too experienced in emotional disasters to think, “maybe it’s just a crush!”

Nah. You liked him. For real. In the "I’d wear sunscreen just to impress him" kind of way. In the "he could tell me I look homeless and I’d say thank you" kind of way.

So, you just accepted your fate.

You nodded solemnly while Vil insulted your meal plan and thought:

Well. I guess this is my life now. Time to emotionally implode in private.

You weren’t going to tell him. Absolutely not. The man had standards higher than Mount Everest. You were a gremlin in sweatpants. He guided you out of what had to be some misplaced sense of moral responsibility, not because he liked you.

So, your plan was simple: keep it quiet. Let the crush rot in your chest. Maybe it would fade. Maybe Vil would never find out. Maybe you’d survive.

…Maybe.

“Are you even paying attention?” Vil snapped, snapping his fingers in your face.

You jolted back to reality. “Yes! Yes. Sodium bad. Body temple. I got it.”

He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “You’re acting weirder than usual.”

“I’m always weird,” you said quickly. “That’s my brand. Very consistent.”

He sighed dramatically and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hopeless.”

You watched him for a second longer and thought, God, I’m doomed.

And then you smiled and said, “Yeah. But at least I’m charming about it.”

He rolled his eyes.

But he didn’t deny it.

You were just trying to survive. That’s all.

Because being around Vil Schoenheit every other day, breathing the same air as him while he guided you while scolding you, was no longer tenable. Your heart was staging a full-blown coup against your sanity.

Every smirk he threw your way shaved years off your life. Every time he flicked your forehead for being “reckless” or “insufferable” or “a walking cautionary tale,” you internally swooned like a Victorian maiden on a fainting couch.

So, you did what any emotionally fragile raccoon-person would do when faced with unattainable love and regular exposure to flawless cheekbones: you fled.

To the Guidance Office.

You kept your voice steady when you asked for your previous guide’s contact. The poor intern looked like he’d rather explode than question you, especially once he realized who your current guide was.

Still, he handed over the transfer form and you sat down, heart racing, tapping your pen like a death drum. You were halfway through scribbling your tragic little freedom request when—

A shadow loomed.

Perfume wafted.

And the temperature dropped ten degrees.

You didn’t even have time to look up before the form was snatched from your hands with all the grace of a man committing a stylish crime.

“Up. Now.”

Vil’s voice was frost and fury and every hair on your body stood up like soldiers called to war.

You stumbled after him, too stunned to protest, as he marched you through the hallways with terrifying grace. You passed several people who were clearly wondering if they were witnessing a kidnapping, but no one dared interfere.

His office door slammed shut behind you, and he turned on you like a beautifully irate weather phenomenon.

Then—rip.

Your transfer form disintegrated in his hands.

“OUT,” he snapped, voice tight, angry. “If you’re going to be a complete and utter fool, then get out of my sight.”

You blinked. “What—why are you mad? I’m doing you a favor!”

“A favor?” he repeated, like you’d just spat in a glass of Château Margaux.

You held your ground, though you were 97% sure he could kill you with a single sigh. “You didn’t want to guide me in the first place! I’m—look, I’m making it easier for both of us. No more clingy potato energy. No more… emotional spirals. You can guide someone who isn’t a complete mess.”

He stared at you, eyes narrowed, jaw tense, and then he—kissed you.

No warning. No build-up. Just lips crashing against yours like your poor little romantic delusions had summoned it from the abyss. His hands cupped your face, tilting it just right, and you—froze.

You opened your mouth to say something.

He kissed you again.

This time, slower. Angrier. Like he was trying to shove every word you weren’t letting him say directly into your bloodstream.

“I love you,” he hissed when he finally pulled away, chest heaving. “You stupid, overthinking potato.”

You blinked. “I—wait, what?”

“Oh, now you’re speechless?” he snapped, pacing. “You think I guide you because it’s convenient? You think I chose to rip you away from that quivering ball of social anxiety just to be charitable? I don’t have to guide anyone. I chose you.”

You were still stuck on the part where he said “I love you” and hadn’t immediately revoked it.

He pointed at you. “Sit down.”

You sat. Immediately.

He sat next to you, crossed one leg over the other, and glared. “We’re going to talk about this. Then you’re going to delete the idea of transferring from your thick, tragically underutilized brain. Understood?”

“…Yes?”

“Good. And drink some water. You look like you’re about to combust.”

You obeyed. Because frankly? You were.

“You’re serious?” you asked, voice a little cracked around the edges, sitting on his plush office chair like you were squatting in a throne you had absolutely no right to. “You love me?”

Vil stared at you with the exhausted patience of a man who had been in love with a rock for three years. “Yes. I’ve loved you for a while, and you—” he poked you in the forehead again, harder this time, “—have been blissfully, astoundingly oblivious.”

“That’s not fair,” you said, already sweating. “You’re very hard to read!”

“I’m not,” he said flatly. “You’re just emotionally illiterate.”

“Give me one example.”

“Oh, one?” He tilted his head and actually laughed, as if he had been waiting for this moment. “Let’s start small, then. Remember the time I brought you a silk-lined weighted blanket because you said you liked ‘being squished by fabric’ and your apartment ‘felt like a haunted fridge?’”

You blinked. “I thought that was just you mocking me with luxury.”

“I custom-ordered it in your favorite color and personally dropped it off.”

“…Okay, that’s fair.”

“And what about the emergency juice box I carry around exclusively for you, because you tend to spiral into a puddle after difficult gates and refuse to ask for help?”

“…You said that was because I’m ‘emotionally six.’”

“That was a joke.” He ran a hand through his hair, then pointed at you again. “What about when I held your hand during guidance and you told me, ‘This is wildly intimate,’ and I said, ‘That’s the idea, darling,’ and you laughed and said, ‘Ha ha good one,’ and proceeded to talk about raccoons for twenty minutes?”

Your face was hot. Like boiling kettle hot. You were being roasted over the open flames of your own idiocy.

Vil, now fully in his villain origin arc, stood up, arms crossed. “Or the time I made you lunch because you skipped breakfast three days in a row and you cried a little, and I wiped your tears, and you said, ‘You’d make such a good husband, wow,’ and then called me bro.”

“I was tired that day,” you whispered.

He paced. “I took a personal day to guide you after that one breach because you refused post-gate care. I showed up at your house! You were curled up like a soggy blanket and told me you didn’t deserve comfort, and I guided you anyway! I even brought snacks!”

You were holding your head in your hands now, processing. “Oh my god. I’m the clown. I’m the whole circus.”

Vil sighed and came to kneel beside you again, gentler now. He pulled your hands from your face and took them in his, lacing your fingers together like it was second nature. “I assumed you didn't like me. But this?” He smiled a little. “This is honestly worse.”

“Okay. Ouch.”

“I love you,” he repeated, quieter now, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ve loved you for a long time. And I don’t want you to change guides. I want you to stay.”

You looked down at your joined hands. Then up at his face, soft and real and so, so stupidly beautiful.

“...Can I kiss you again?” you asked.

He rolled his eyes. “Finally.”

And he did. And this time, when he kissed you, you didn’t freeze or black out or say anything about raccoons. You just held him closer and kissed him back, trying very hard not to think about how many brain cells you’d wasted missing the obvious.

(But you did apologize to him later. After the third kiss. And after asking if he’d consider writing a “Vil Schoenheit’s Guide to Realizing Your Guide is Flirting” manual for future dumbasses like yourself.)

The first time Vil met you was… unfortunate.

You'd collapsed on him like a sandbag flung from the heavens by a god with no taste.

He'd been called in to assist after a gate breach—nothing unusual, really, just a high-stress emergency with far too many untrained espers and not enough functioning brain cells among them. His job was to stabilize, guide, and keep anyone from combusting mentally or emotionally, preferably both. It was clinical, routine, and efficient.

Until you.

You stumbled out of the smoke and screaming with wild eyes and your uniform half-burnt, looking like you’d just gone twelve rounds with the concept of mortality. You locked eyes with him—briefly, like a bird recognizing glass mid-flight—and then passed out straight into his arms.

Correction: onto him.

He wasn’t sure how you managed to fall with such inconvenient geometry, but one moment he was standing, perfectly composed, and the next he had an unconscious stranger face-planting onto him, limbs sprawled like a freshly felled tree.

His first thought was: Excuse you?

His second: Do they not know who I am?

Honestly, the offense was justified. People didn’t usually touch Vil without permission, let alone treat him like a fainting couch. And yet when the medics arrived to assist, he waved them off with a sigh, brushing soot out of your hair and stabilizing your exhausted psyche with the practiced ease of someone too annoyed to be fazed. You were just another Esper, he told himself. Another mess to be cleaned up.

Then you woke up.

You blinked at him. Groggy. Confused. Soft in the eyes in a way that caught him off guard. “Oh,” you mumbled, voice hoarse. “Sorry. My bad.”

No recognition. No fawning. No demands for priority guidance.

Just that—thanks—like he was your local neighborhood guide and not one of the most in-demand SSS-ranks in the country.

And that was when it happened: the first crack.

A hairline fracture in his perfectly sculpted composure. Something warm and startlingly gentle wedged itself in his chest. The faint, whispering thought: They’re not like the others.

He'd left soon after and that should've been the end of it.

But the next day, you came to his office. Not to request a partnership. Not to ask for more guidance sessions. Not even to praise his skill, as most did when they finally found out who he was.

No.

You walked in with a slightly bent energy drink and said, “Hi. Just wanted to thank you again. For yesterday. And, like, if you want anything—coffee, or uh, a meal, or maybe a really good nap on my couch—I can return the favor.”

He blinked. “You're offering me compensation?”

“Yeah,” you said, like it was obvious. “I didn’t mean to fall on you. Also, you helped me not die. That deserves at least a smoothie.”

He stared at you. You stared back, unbothered and vaguely hopeful, like someone trying to barter with a raccoon they’d wronged in a past life.

And that’s when the thought struck him:

I wish more Espers were like this.

Earnest. Direct. Not wrapped in ego or desperation. You treated him like a person and not a tool or a celebrity. Like someone who deserved appreciation, not worship.

He didn’t say yes to your offer.

And later that evening, sipping the mango smoothie you left on his desk with a sticky note that said “Thanks again, Your Highness,” Vil caught himself smiling.

Disaster or not, you had… made an impression.

And for better or worse, that impression was starting to stick.

Soon, he found himself buying your favorite juice on the way to work.

He told himself it was to bribe you into being less reckless. That he just “happened” to know your favorite. That it was a coincidence.

He also started carrying headache meds. And bandaids. And snacks. And spare gloves because you kept losing yours and pretending you didn’t need them.

A week later, he spotted you in the hallway again. You were coming out of a gate looking like you’d been mugged by gravity and a brick. But what truly horrified Vil was not your appearance (which was a hate crime against fashion), but the fact that you were about to be guided by someone else.

Some junior Guide with too much gel in his hair and the audacity to step away from you.

Vil's soul left his body.

He didn’t even think. He stomped across the hallway, yanked you away like a cat stealing laundry, and declared, “Absolutely not.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Guiding you. Sit down. Shut up.”

“...Okay?”

He’d never been so professionally compromised. He gave you the most aggressive, possessive, emotionally repressed guiding session in history. It was like channeling affection through gritted teeth.

He was doomed.

Vil Schoenheit was a man of control. Precision. Elegance. He kept his calendar color-coded, his wardrobe steamed, and his guiding sessions timed to the minute.

So when he heard through the grapevine that you were about to be reassigned to another Guide—because of some nonsense about “compatibility tests” and “emotional interference” (rude)—he did not react well.

No, he did not pout.

He did not sulk.

He marched directly to the Guidance Office, pulled rank in that way that only Vil could—part charm, part cold-blooded menace—and made it very clear that you were off the market.

“This Esper is mine,” he said, crisp and cool like a glacier in a fur coat. “Officially. Put it in writing.”

The poor intern at the desk blinked up at him, then at the screen.

“Um… you mean, you want to—?”

“Yes. I want to take full responsibility for their guiding.”

“Sir, do you mean romantically—?”

“Professionally.” A beat. “For now.”

Vil was shopping for seasonal essentials, which of course required strategic planning, multiple fitting rooms, and approximately seventeen judgmental head tilts. He saw you wandering out of a soft-clothes store with a hoodie that looked like a blanket and a dream.

You saw him.

You tried to leave.

He grabbed your wrist.

“I need hands,” he said.

“For what?”

“Everything.”

And then he handed you a bag and moved on like a model on a mission.

You carried his bags for hours. You offered no complaints, just commentary like, “That color makes your cheekbones illegal,” and “If I try that on I’ll look like a deflated beanbag.” You actually enjoyed yourself.

And then—then—when you ended up in a café and he reluctantly allowed you to buy his coffee, you sat there, sipping from your little cup, and made some stupid joke about luxury couture and cheese graters.

He laughed.

And it wasn’t polite or dismissive. It was the kind of laugh that knocked loose something in his ribcage. The kind that made him stare at you over the rim of his drink and realize, with full-body horror:

I’m doomed.

Because he liked you.

He really, really liked you.

Not in the “you’re tolerable and I guess I won’t smite you” way. In the “I want to wring your neck for not wearing gloves but also maybe hold your hand” way. The “I will destroy that junior Guide if he even looks at you again” way. The “please stop getting injured or I will cry and then deny it until the sun explodes” way.

And you had no idea.

You were still out here calling yourself “emotionally bulletproof” and stealing his granola bars like it was normal. Still calling him “Vilbo Baggins” and poking his forehead like you weren’t holding the shreds of his dignity in your little chaos-stained hands.

So yes. Vil was doomed.

And he couldn’t even blame you.

Because of all the Espers in the world, it had to be you—you with your messy hair and shiny eyes and stupid brave heart.

Fast-forward to a Tuesday. Or maybe Thursday. Vil had lost track. It had been a day full of Espers with no manners, no boundaries, and one who tried to touch his hair mid-guiding.

By the time you wandered into his office, he was one broken string away from full violin villainy.

And for once, you didn’t joke.

No "What’s up, Guidezilla?"

No "Did your skincare try to abandon you too?"

You just took one look at him, walked over, and—gently—placed your hands on his shoulders.

Vil froze.

You kneaded the tight muscles there with surprising skill. Still no words. Just the quiet press of your thumbs, the steady warmth of your touch. And when he exhaled—shaky, involuntary—you didn’t tease him for it.

You just said, softly, “You don’t always have to do everything alone, you know.”

And that was when he broke a little.

Not obviously. But his posture slumped just slightly. His head tilted just enough to rest against your shoulder. Not even for a minute—maybe twenty seconds.

But it was enough.

Enough to make him realize: This is the safest I’ve felt all day.

And the fact that it was you—you, with your chaos and your grin and your glitter stickers stuck to your ID badge—that was terrifying. And comforting. And utterly, stupidly addicting.

He didn’t say thank you. Not out loud.

But later, when you weren’t looking, he moved your next few guiding sessions to the prime slot on his calendar. The one reserved for important things.

And in his fridge?

There was already more of your favorite juice.

He told himself it was just being thorough.

He was a liar.

It had started like any other deployment day. You and he had both been assigned to different gates, which wasn’t uncommon anymore. It was annoying—yes, he preferred to keep you in arm’s reach like a chaotic, overly affectionate pet raccoon—but manageable. You hadn’t called, hadn’t messaged, so he assumed it was fine. Maybe you were too tired. Maybe you’d just fallen asleep.

But then he heard the reports.

Talk around the guidance center was that your gate had gone bad. A breach. Casualties. They'd barely managed to contain it. The kind of mission that rattled even the seasoned Espers.

Vil had frozen mid-conversation, a pen slipping from his hand and clattering onto his desk.

“Did they get guided after?” he asked, voice sharp.

The other Guide had shrugged. “Apparently not. Took off the moment debrief ended.”

And that was when the spiral started.

He called you. Once. Twice. Ten times. Fifty. A hundred.

Pacing his office like a man possessed, he left increasingly deranged voicemails.

—"Pick up your phone, I swear to the God, if you are ghosting me because you’re feeling ‘emotionally crunchy’ again—"

—“If you're hurt, I need to know. If you're not hurt, I'm going to kill you myself.”

—“Potato, I’m serious. Answer the phone.”

When you finally picked up, sounding groggy and like someone had drop-kicked your soul, all you said was:

“…Vil?”

And that was enough.

“Address. Now.”

You sent him a dropped pin and then promptly passed out again.

He’d never gotten to your place so fast in his life. Nearly crashed into two pedestrians, scared a delivery driver into a full existential crisis, and parked in a tow zone without blinking.

The front door was unlocked.

He burst in like divine judgment, only to find you curled up on your couch like a sad, emotionally fried ferret.

“You left the door open. What if someone had—?! You didn’t even—! I called you a hundred times! Why didn’t you—!?”

You blinked up at him, slow and a little disoriented. “Vil?”

He was kneeling next to the couch before he realized it, shaking you like an overcaffeinated nurse trying to keep a patient conscious. “Why didn’t you call me?!”

Your voice was small. “Didn’t think I deserved to.”

Something in Vil's chest cracked with a soundless, incandescent rage. Not at you. Never at you.

At the situation. At himself. At the idiocy of a world where someone like you—who put yourself on the line for people who didn’t know your name—could think for one second you didn’t deserve comfort.

You sat up and hugged him before he could speak. And Vil, for all his pride and poise, let you.

He guided you right there on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around you like he could anchor all your scattered pieces back into place with sheer force of will. His fingers were steady against your temple, his voice low and soothing.

You didn't fight it this time. Not really. You were too tired. Too raw.

But later, when you were dozing against him and he felt the weight of your breathing even out, he looked at you and thought:

If I ever lose them, I don’t know if I’ll survive it.

And he realized, with an unflinching kind of horror, that this wasn’t just fondness anymore.

This was love. Stupid, all-consuming, feral love.

Oh, when Vil saw the transfer form in your hands—his potato, his utterly chaotic, absurdly self-sacrificing, emotionally constipated Esper—filling out a request to switch Guides?

He saw red. No, scratch that. He saw every shade of fury on the spectrum. He didn’t even remember walking; one moment he was across the hallway, the next he had the form in his fist and you in his office, the door slammed shut behind you with enough force to rattle the entire floor.

“What. Is. This.”

You blinked at him like a cat caught stealing food, caught between guilt and indifference. “A transfer form? I—uh. It’s not a big deal—”

“Not a—” Vil looked genuinely scandalized. If he wore pearls, he would’ve clutched them. “Do you think I’m running a halfway house for wayward Espers?! I have been guiding you, carrying juice boxes for you, putting up with your ridiculous snacks, and you think this isn’t a big deal?!”

You stared at him, flustered and slightly confused. “I—I just thought maybe it’d be easier for both of us if I wasn’t—like—around all the time, you know? I’m not exactly low maintenance—”

Vil’s brain short-circuited.

He kissed you.

No thought. Just lips. Panic. Longing. Rage. Chapstick.

Your sentence died like a bug on a windshield.

Vil pulled back just long enough to snarl, “I love you, you stupid overthinking potato.”

You blinked.

“I—what—”

He kissed you again. You weren’t going to ruin this with words. Not today.

When he finally let you breathe, you looked dizzy. In love. Slightly offended. Vil understood.

“You’ve been in love with me?” you asked, voice very much in the ‘I missed every single sign like a blind NPC in a dating sim’ zone.

“Oh finally,” Vil groaned. “Yes. For ages. Do you think I just carry juice boxes for anyone? I had to go to a wholesaler to find your weird imported apple-lychee thing. I do not do that for strangers.”

You looked like the Earth had tilted sideways. “Oh my god. I thought you were just—like that.”

“‘Like that?!’” he cried. “I forced you to carry my shopping bags through an entire mall and called it a bonding experience! I let you pay for my coffee! I let you touch me when I was emotionally unbalanced! Me!”

“Oh my god,” you said again, very softly. “I am Stupid.”

Vil sighed like he was asking the universe for strength. “Yes. But you’re mine now. So unless you want to see what a real tantrum looks like, stop trying to fill out transfer forms like we’re in some tragic rom-com and just stay.”

You looked at him for a moment, soft and stunned and still processing the part where he said “I love you” more than once.

Then you reached for him, and he let you pull him into a hug, and despite everything—despite the rage, the confusion, the two destroyed pens on his desk and the emotional whiplash—you smiled into his shoulder like you couldn’t quite believe your luck.

Vil closed his eyes.

And all he could think was:

If I have to live in this ridiculous, broken world... let it be with you.

You didn’t expect it to come up like this.

You were lying on Vil’s fancy designer couch, head on his lap, while he scrolled through his tablet like he wasn’t also playing with your hair and ruining your heart. It was a quiet kind of peace, the kind you didn’t get often, the kind you didn’t want to jinx.

Which is exactly why he jinxed it.

“I want to permanently bond,” he said, tone casual in the way a gun cocking across the room is casual.

You blinked. “What?”

He looked down at you like you were the idiot for not reading his mind faster.

“I don’t want to guide anyone else,” he said. “You’re mine.”

Your heart made a sound like a microwave short-circuiting.

“You’re sure?” you asked, because you had to—because you needed him to say it again, to look you in the eye and confirm this wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment emotion, or drama, or guilt, or—

Vil gave you a glare so sharp it could slice through reinforced glass. You didn’t even need to hear him speak. The look alone said: If you ask that again I will end you and then raise you from the ashes just to scold you properly.

So naturally, you pulled him closer.

He kissed you like you’d insulted him and he was trying to forgive you with his entire mouth. And then he pushed you down onto the couch with all the grace and pent-up need of someone who’d waited far too long to do this.

There was nothing dramatic about the bond itself—it was warmth, deep and golden, spreading between your minds like a whispered promise. Familiar, grounding, and so right it made you dizzy. You felt him in a way that no one else could ever match—his feelings humming beneath your skin, threaded through your heartbeat, echoing in your thoughts.

It felt like falling and landing and being caught all at once.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just pressed his forehead against yours and held you close, letting the bond settle between your chests like a vow.

Then, quietly:

“Finally.”

You laughed, breathless. “Yeah,” you said, hugging him tighter. “Finally.”

Life was still mildly cursed. You weren’t about to tempt fate by saying otherwise. The gates still opened at the worst times, your body still ached in places that didn’t make sense, and someone still managed to microwave metal in the guidance office kitchen every single week.

But—

You had Vil. And that made it survivable.

He had finally, finally reprogrammed you out of your self-destructive nonsense, though it had been a war. You were talking metaphorical trench warfare. It took a thousand forehead flicks, an aggressively color-coded sleep schedule, and a terrifying PowerPoint presentation titled “If You Die, I Will Be Very Upset (And Also Kill You) – A Visual Threat.”

And in return, you had managed to make Vil Schoenheit loosen up. The man who once flinched at the idea of touching door handles with his bare hands now shared hoodies with you and let you kiss him with gate-dust still in your hair.

It was progress.

So when the door to your shared home clicked shut behind you both after another long day, you let out a sigh and slumped like a corpse released from its mortal coil. Vil caught you by the collar before you hit the floor like “absolutely not, we are not breaking furniture today.”

You peeled off your jacket, dropped your bag, and turned to him, still stuck in your boots. “Is it bad I want to sleep on the floor?”

“Yes,” he replied instantly. “Go shower, you reeking gremlin. I’ll order dinner.”

You blinked. “Will it be salad?”

“No. I’m ordering dumplings.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Who are you and what have you done with my overachieving nutrient-balanced microgreens–”

Vil shoved you gently toward the bathroom. “Shoo. I’ll be waiting here with your emotional support carbs when you’re done.”

And that was it.

You went to shower, and he ordered dinner. And maybe life was cursed and weird and exhausting—but it had given you Vil. And now, the worst thing he threatened you with was hydration reminders and forehead kisses.

Honestly?

You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Series Masterlist ; All Masterlists

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit #vil x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit x you #vil #twst vil x reader #twst vil #guideverse x reader #guideverse #࣪ ִֶָ☾. guideverse

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celestemona · 10 months ago

Text

⋆˙⟡ — FOUR TIMES MUALANI SUSPECTED SOMETHING WAS GOING ON (AND ONE TIME SHE WAS RIGHT)

pairing: kinich x reader

cw: no pronouns mentioned. ajaw is in a vacation. slight but not slight pda. mualani overreacting but she is a sweet. best friends trio. pyro vision reader mentioned. not beta-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

Mualani knew Kinich and you were friends—close best friends, just like you two were with her—but lately, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

It started with little things, almost too subtle to be noticeable but somehow it didn’t escape from her perception. Things like how Kinich, ever the quiet guy, had begun lingering a little too long when he talked to you, or how you’d run all your way to the Scions of the Canopy's village just to welcome him back after a mission.

At first, she didn’t pay too much attention thinking you guys were just being more affectionative and caring to each other. However, as time passed by, it has been shown to be more than a mutual friendly appreciation and certainly beyond a mere coincidence.

The first time Mualani noticed something different was in an early morning by the coast, watching the waves curl and crash. She often started her day stretching at the shore and riding the first waves of dawn. But this time, as she rounded a cliff, she spotted Kinich and you sitting on a rock overlooking the sea. The two of you were close enough that your arms brushed every time the wind picked up.

Kinich’s usual stern expression was softer than usual. Mualani squinted at you suspiciously. Were you... holding hands?

She jogged closer, but just as she got near enough to say something, Kinich quickly stood up, putting a considerable distance between you and himself. “You're up early,” he said, his voice in its usual calm.

You smiled warmly. “Hey girl! How are the waves? We were just discussing about it.”

Mualani tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “You were? Really?”

You let out a light and confusing laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course.”

She didn’t quite buy it, but you didn’t give her any reason to push further. “Well, the waves are good today! You guys joining?”

Kinich only gave her a polite headshaking, while you nodded smiling. Maybe she was imagining things.

II.

Except she wasn’t.

A few days later, you were hanging out by Tequemecan Valley' canyons with Kinich standing quietly while you and Mualani chatted. However, every time she glanced toward him, Kinich seemed to be watching you a little too intently. It wasn’t the usual hunter’s focus; it was softer, caring, almost like... adoring.

The girl squinted, pretending to be interested in some flowers nearby while keeping an eye on you two. You didn’t seem to notice anything, or if did, you didn’t mind. You just kept talking, your laughter filling the air.

When Mualani caught Kinich staring again, she couldn’t help but ask, “Kinich, you okay? You’ve been zoning out all day.”

He blinked, his neutral mask slipping back into place. “I’m fine.”

“He’s just tired from all the training,” you teased, winking at him.

Mualani raised an eyebrow, astonished by the scene before her eyes. Something was definitely going on.

III.

The third time came on a day when Mualani was guiding a group of Sumeru’s travelers near the springs when she spotted you and Kinich again, standing by the water. As she approached, she saw Kinich leaning down to whisper something to you, his lips close to your ear. You giggled softly in response.

Wait a minute... Kinich never whispers to anyone. Much less in such an intimate way and even less to make someone laugh. Mualani's instincts flared up immediately. What was he saying? And why did you look so happy about it?

She cleared her throat loudly as she walked up. “Hey. What are you two whispering about?”

Kinich straightened up quickly, crossing his arms. “Nothing important.”

You smiled at her, but there was a glimmer in your eyes that made the girl even more suspicious. “Just a silly joke,” you said lightly.

A joke, huh? Mualani filed it away in her mind. This time she was very determined to figure out what was going on between you two.

IV.

It was late afternoon, and Mualani had just finished surfing when she saw you two by the waterside. Kinich and you stood close, so close as it has strangely been, and for a brief moment, she could have sworn Kinich was about to lean in and kiss you.

She froze, watching from a distance as you smiled up at him, your palm softly pushing his chest away. Were you two really about to kiss? It couldn’t be just her angle view. Could it be?

But just as quickly as it happened, Kinich stepped back, his usual stoic demeanor falling back into place. You turned and waved at her, your smile as bright as ever.

“Lani. Hey! How was the surf?” you called out.

Mualani, still in shock, shook her head. “Uh... good. Really good.”

She stared at you both for a moment longer, convinced she’d almost witnessed something, but there was no proof. Again.

In the several days that followed, Mualani continued to witness that strangeness that kept repeating itself every time you thought she wasn’t around, creating a certain tension between her and you and Kinich—although she doubted that you had noticed any difference, treating her as you always did from the beginning.

Even if it relieved her to know that nothing had changed in your friendship, the surfer couldn't help but feel upset too. Was it that bad if she found out? Didn't you trust her the same way she trusted you? She wanted to be able to release all of her thoughts and ask you if maybe there was something in your bond that was bothering you. But she didn't. And so, things remained the same.

That was a quiet evening, and the moon hung low over the mountains. Mualani had been taking a stroll, enjoying the peaceful night, when she stumbled upon you.

This time, though, there was no mistaking it—Kinich and you stood together under some trees, locked in a slow, deep kiss.

The girl’s cheeks burned as red as the pyro vision you hold so dear closely, eyes widely opening and heart skipping a beat. She gasped, louder than she intended, and both of you quickly turned toward her. You blinked twice before smiling stiffly, even daring to look a bit embarrassed, while Kinich gave her a calm look, his hands still resting on your waist.

“You two!” She exclaimed shaking her head, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me earlier! I mean, I knew something was up, but really?”

You bit your lip while Kinich just blinked at her, slightly starting to look more guilty as well.

“We didn’t mean to keep it from you for long,” you said as you stepped out of Kinich’s arms and reached for her hand. “We were just... taking our time.”

Mualani arched an eyebrow. “Taking your time? You two were being so weird and annoying with all those suspicious interactions for weeks now! I’m supposed to be your best friend!”

Kinich rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. “We wanted to keep it quiet,” he said, his voice low. “At first, anyway.”

Mualani softened, her fake scold melting away into genuine affection. “Still, I would’ve loved to know sooner,” she said, her tone gentler now. “You know me better than anyone else. You know I would never judge you,” she sighed as she watches the sorrow on your face. “Nevertheless, I’m really happy for you both. Really am.”

You beamed and even Kinich’s usual stoic expression seemed to relax slightly.

Mualani continued, her voice full of warmth. “I’ve always known you two had something special. And now that I know for sure, you better believe I’m fully on board with this!” She shot Kinich a playful look. “Just make sure you treat (Y/N) right, okay?”

Kinich nodded, his eyes softening as he glanced at you. “I will.”

You squeezed Mualani’s hand, your eyes sparkling with gratitude and pure happiness. “Thank you, Lani. Your support means a lot to us.”

Mualani grinned, pulling you both into a tight hug. “Just don’t keep secrets from me again, alright? I’m always here for you two.”

You all laughed but shared a quick but sweet bond moment, the atmosphere light and easy. And somehow, Mualani couldn’t help but feel like everything had fallen into place just the way it was meant to.

“But just for your information. If the day comes of you get engaged and don’t tell me immediately, I’ll crash the proposal myself, make a huge scene, and tell everyone how long I’ve had to put up with your not so secret glances and not so subtle hand-holding. Trust me, it won’t be pretty!”

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #kinich #kinich x reader #mualani

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bambisnc · 2 months ago

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( ➴ ) 𝖪𝖨𝖲𝖲 𝖧𝖨𝖬, 𝖭𝖮𝖳 𝖬𝖤! ♡

୨ৎ. 𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 .. 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌.

### . STARRING ⌢ p.sh ⋆ oneshot + 1.2k // kissing + reader has an ex + i need you guys to j trust me on this please ˖ ✧

[ 陰 🤍 ] ─── i have nawt read the manga before anyone asks; i found the name super funny & then a little lightbulb in my head went "!!" ㅤㅤㅤㅤ‹ FILE.ZIP 𝟹

park sunghoon usually prides himself on being a man of dignity and honor.

he’s heard people around him say this; multiple remarks of how his moral conduct seems totally unshakable. a pillar whose boundaries not one single temptation could consider breaking, they'd say.

but, he finds himself thinking, if all that were really true, he wouldn’t really be in this position—with heeseung's girlfriend all pretty in front of him, pinned up against a wall—would he?

not that he's complaining about the sight in front of him, of course.

you are nothing less of a divine vision with slightly swollen and spit slicked lips, your delicately applied gloss now smudged from the earlier … activities.

his eyes take in the loose strands of hair framing your features, the way your eyes are delectably glazed over and the lightest sheen of sweat highlighting it all. it’s a wonder he’s able to resist diving right back in and claiming your lips in another kiss, really.

heeseung should've known better.

he should've known that leaving you alone with sunghoon could not possibly lead to any good outcomes.

one doesn't harbour unrequited feelings for months and leave scott-free, with zero after effects. there’s bound to be some catches.

sunghoon blamed many other things too.

firstly, the sun. for subjecting him to its sweltering heat and for rendering him into a half-dazed stupor. for being the reason you were wearing that gorgeous sundress, casual but enough to catch the attention of all the others lazily roaming around the open shopping complex.

secondly, he blamed ni-ki. like, did the boy really have to drag heeseung away because he saw a michael jackson DVD (limited versions only) on display?

granted, that particular compilation was seemingly not available anywhere else without having to pay a price so scandalous that it hurt to think about. and the singer did happen to be ni-ki's favorite.

but gosh, how selfish could people be?

most importantly, though, he blamed your ex.

for? his mere existence.

it had been going just fine, peachy even, right until that person showed up, he recalls, absentmindedly tracing your lower lip—doing his best to ignore the expectant gaze you were directing towards him lest he end up doing something he'd regret.

well. regret more than he does already, that is.

when your previously cheery smile had suddenly been replaced by a pall of worry, he couldn’t help but immediately mirror your concern. you had anxiously clutched the edge of his sleeve, murmuring that you had just happened to see song eunseok. also known as your ex.

“i just… i really don’t want to face him right now.”

that was understandable. sunghoon wouldn’t want to see the face of the man who had been such a horrible boyfriend to you (your words, not his; circa last july, pre-heeseung era) either, lest he end up lobbing a punch his way.

“do you think you could hide me?” he could practically see the unease wrapped in a sheath around you from the way you chewed on your lip, “please?...”

what was sunghoon supposed to reply to that? say no to your plea? as if he could ever.

so he did what any dutiful friend would do. he let you use him.

an arm braced against the wall and another awkwardly fidgeting by his side—he wasn’t sure where it was considered appropriate to keep one’s hand while helping their friend’s girlfriend hide from an ex—he stood leaning towards you.

his broader, taller frame could cover yours with laughable ease. should the ex boyfriend happen to glance your way, he wouldn’t even realize there was another person there.

it was fine even up until that point. it wasn’t like sunghoon couldn’t control himself and immediately took advantage of the situation. no matter how much he really, really wanted to.

he would never do that to heeseung or you.

all he needed to do, he thought determinedly, was to not make eye contact and hope that this was over soon.

but suddenly, you were tugging him closer, saying the position seemed way too odd, too awkward. and now he was closer to you than ever, and quite aware of the fact that he was sweating bullets.

“hoon?... are you okay?” you had piped up, voice slightly muffled due to quite literally being pressed up against him, “you seem so flushed… is it because of the sun?”

no, it was most definitely not because of the sun.

he vaguely recalls replying back with some offhanded agreement to your words. you, bless your heart, had immediately brushed the back of your hand against his forehead, checking if he was truly okay.

sunghoon swore his breath hitched at the contact. noticeably.

only then did it sink in. the reduced proximity, the charged air brewing between your bodies. he really shouldn’t be getting any ideas.

"?..."

“i’m fine.” his voice was low, cautious. he ran his tongue across his lips, wetting them—a nervous tick of his. “you need to stop this.. a guy can get the wrong idea, you know?”

you had only giggled at that airily, “no wrong ideas here, i promise.”

then, as if it was the most natural thing to do—it might as well have been, with how perfect it was—you had tipped your head upwards, placing a soft kiss right at the corner of his mouth.

“am i still being unclear?” your head was tilted at a 45° angle, playing off a cute innocence.

... there was no way he could say no to that, rationality and morals be damned.

and so instead of gracing your teasing remark with a dignified comeback, he simply let you close the distance between your lips once again.

park sunghoon usually prides himself on being a man of dignity and honor, sure. but right now? right now, the only thing he’s sure of is that he’s fucked up. big time.

heeseung… one can only imagine how his friend would react to this information. none of the possible scenarios that run through his head are any good.

with a jolt, he jerks away; the hurt look on your face doing nothing to break his resolve. (mostly.)

“this isn’t—this isn’t right. you have a boyfriend, heeseung… he—he’ll be devastated.”

“what?” confusion spreads across your face, genuine enough if he stopped to take it in. “sunghoon, no that’s not it—”

“we—it’s best we forget this happened. i, um,.. i won’t say anything to him.”

a blink. and you’re laughing. wait what?

“ah…” the way your head is thrown back as you struggle to keep a straight face almost distracts him. “heeseung is actually going to burst out laughing, oh my god.”

before he can even comprehend what that could mean, you show him your phone screen opened to a chat between you and your boyfriend (?).

fake boyfie hee ☝🤓 : dude if you’re planning on making out w/ hoon rn do NOT do it in front of me and niki i beg.

fake boyfie hee ☝🤓 : cause like it’s one thing having to hear ab how u bad u want him 24/7 (it gets to a point oh my god?)

fake boyfie hee ☝🤓 : go get ur man by all means but i do nawt need to be seeing allat !!!!!

“see? i only made him pretend we were together because eunseok was being a little bitch. it was super funny seeing his reaction, if that helps!”

sunghoon’s not sure if he wants to now laugh himself or instead cry. maybe both at the same time? he would rather not scare you off already though. hence, he does the next best thing.

he kisses you once again. softer this time, as if he’s taking the time to savor the moment.

you part for air only when it becomes an absolute necessity. “what was that about?”

“i need to make up for lost time. all this while, i really thought i had no chance. and…” a pause that indicates he’s struggling to find the right words.

his tone is sheepish when he finally says what’s on his mind.

“and... i could’ve been a better fake boyfriend, by the way. for the record.”

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit @douqhnxtss @soona-huh @amoressb @nicholasluvbot @manariee @rinrinninnin @ddeonuswife @douqhnxtss @lovenha7 ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

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mianaissante · 26 days ago

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“ you know i'm not a bad girl, but i do bad things with you.”

summary: your best friend of 10 years helps you remove your bdsm toys after getting stuck with it on for 2 hours, having you overstimulated while he's...stuck with a tent in his basketball shorts:)

pairing/s: itadori yuuji! wc: 9.4k

warnings!! light bdsm, heaaavy and heeefty dacryphilia 😮‍💨, overstimulation, spanking, bondage, blindfolding, praise kink, degradation, edging, dry humping, makeout sesh, shower sex, p in v!!, cunnilingus, fingering, doggy style, mating press, missionary, spooning, manhandled HEAAAVYYY🫡

tags: itadori yuuji x fem!reader, freaky reader and "innocent" yuuji, switch itadori, gymrat yuuji!!, he gives the best aftercare.

a/n: for the people with the same perverted thoughts as me, this one's for you LOLLL 💕💕

for the experience, listen to so it goes.. by taylor swift!

crying out yuuji's name to help you rid yourself of the very bdsm toys you chose to wear was one of the many events you didn't think would ever happen in the 10 years of your friendship.

it all started a few days ago when you thought that it would be a bright idea to purchase some bdsm toys online, well, to try while yuuji was busy in the gym.

an unexpected truth to be exact, was that you had a disgusting secret you never had a chance to share with your best friend, and it was that you were into bdsm and quite possibly be a freak.

although, while being a virgin and exploring your preferences, you've never had a real encounter with a dominant which made you a tad bit inexperienced. you were just starting out after all.

yuuji never asked you about anything sexual as you and him grew up together from diapers until college. he's never had that though of you, and neither did you towards him. however you knew that he was never into what you were into. he was such a sweet boy, you never imagined he'd delve into bdsm like you do now.

what made him be the one you'd call to was because he was your roommate. living in a bungalow house was fun in it's idea, execution wise, it was hard to find privacy. walls were extremely thin, the slightest of yawns can be heard.

but because of his daily routine of leaving at three in the afternoon, you found yourself dedicating that time to explore your body and it's limits.

and well... it's at its limit.

in squirmish hums, you were sprawled on your bed with a spreader bar latched on your ankles. cuffs tightly securing your wrists onto the bar which made you lay your head down on your pillows and your taut ass waving in the air. slick dribbles all over your sheets where your cunt swallows a purple shaped vibrating dildo you lost the controller to.

dumb now, was it?

while you were overstimulated, your vision was simply blocked with blindfolds, and your mouth encasing a gagball which refrained you from speaking.

was it torture?

no, it really wasn't. it felt good, great even. you were just overstimulated. it was your 5th orgasm when the door clicked and you realized you lost the controller of the dildo, irresistibly stuck in the same position you found pleasure.

whimpers, warbles of your breath, tears gliding your cheeks and heat overflowing your bruised pussy taking in thrusts of the sex toy continuously filled the walls in a monotonous waves of groans.

“ yuu!” a muffled impression of his name making it seem like you were okay yet you weren't. in a way, it held such lustful intentions that you never addressed.

“ngh—hah-fuck..” was all the series of words you could ever execute, gagball intact. yuuji's footsteps drawing closer, you felt a sense of embarrassment basking your body which didn't. “ yuu! help..ngh!” yet it wasn't understandable.

his heavy feet comes to a halt when he reaches the front of your door. a worried knock decorating the small space. “ [name], are you okay?” his voice trembled with care, a sound you knew all too well.

you couldn't bare him seeing you like this, but alas, it was the present.

heavy pants feathered through your lips, curling yourself up and over but restrictions continued to hinder your ability to peel yourself off from such indulgence. “yuu!” you choked, your tongue tasting the plastic of the spherical object jammed in your mouth. turned on even more when the dildo started pulsing harder and faster. “ yuu—” whining, writhing in your place, bed frame wobbling as you stretched upward with your flesh in the air.

“ i'm coming inside, okay? don't get mad..” yuuji quickly says, as if to distract you feom the "pain," the door clinking in unison. “ what's—” he pauses at the sight, his gym bag dropping dramatically on the floor. “—wrong?”

it was a lewd sight. never in his life would he have thought he'd see his childhood best friend like this. blood undeniably rushes to his cheeks and lips parted. how could he control this reaction? how?! parts of your body which he only imagined were now out in display at him.

tears swarmed and distressed the blindfold which you wore— tears that stained your rosy cheeks. sticky saliva building up in the corners of your lips while your muffled out whimpers in what seemed like pleasure and pain danced in his vision and hearing. your wrists and ankles marked with red patches of cuffs complimented the way your slick cunt had its dripping liquid all over the inner most flesh of your thighs. the steel bar glistening with your juices on it.

he was hard.

he could only imagine what it felt like running his thick hand across your hot skin— wait.

yuuji quickly shook those thoughts out of his head, not wanting to take advantage of you in such a vulnerable situation. your head turned where his footsteps laid, suddenly his body made your bed sink down to his weight. there was no point in denying— both of you were nervous and with the way your hearts were panging in embarrassment and desire, it wouldn't be a surprise if both of you suffered a heart attack.

gentle two hands laid your head on his lap, strong fingers calmly untying the gagball from behind your head, his heart skipping a beat again. was there something in the air that made it hard to breathe? yuuji peeled the toy from your mouth, a string of saliva connecting the two together lingered. he basks in the redness of his cheeks.

to him, you still looked innocent as the day he met you, and he knew this when you suddenly burst into tears out of emotions washing over you. yuuji's eyes softened in your glow, cupping your face with his rough palms with thumbs which drew circles softly on your skin.

“ i—i'm sorry you had to see me like this!” you rambled, it was beyond repair. you were damaged. “ you must feel so disgusted of me now, don't you?” yuuji quickly swept you up, kissing your forehead.

“ it's okay baby, it's alright. don't worry, i've got you.” your voice warbled in intensity, tears drowning out any coherence you can say to him. “ i'm not disgusted, i was just shocked. calm down now, please?” yuuji's rough hands detangled your hair from the blindfold, lifting it up from your face.

“ it's just—” hiccup! “ you took so long standing there! i thought you hated me at that point on..” your sobs continued while the dildo on you still worked you up.

yuuji cooed, “ i can never hate you.” you laid there on his lap worrying away how to disappear from the face of the earth. he, on the other hand, felt the tip of his thumb graze over your glistening lips. with one quick swipe, you stopped whimpering. “ now tell me what i need to do, yeah?” he asks softly.

he couldn't deny that he was growing harder at the sole sight of you. your eyes were sullen and red, upset by the fact you let yourself be seen this way, doe irises that made his heart melt. “yuu... get the dildo out of me..—hagh please!” you bucked backwards, your hips failing on you. yuuji held you securely with his strong arms, but his body was giving out as well.

watching you writhing from the simple toy sparked something within him, like it had been dormant for so long. your constant whimpering paired with how your toes were curling was giving him the final blow, but he chose to remain calm.

he kissed your cheeks as if you were the littlest thing in the world he wanted to protect. “ okay, baby. got it.” yuuji swiftly got up, the bed bouncing back up to its original place.

the sun was setting from your window, the light glazing your room with a golden glow. your eyes which regained its ability to see watched your best friend tend to you slowly.

he sank down near your behind, the tension in the air filling up while you begin to experience what seems like your 6th orgasm yet.

a cold hand firmly sets itself on the curve of your back, two fingers both on its soft pooling dimples and a gentle voice pulling you out your highs. however, it made you feverish, burning, and needy.

“ yuu, i'm so sorry..” whimpering in more sobs, “ so..so so sorry..” but your body wasn't sorry at all— in fact it was reacting to his hand sliding up and down, tracing circles on the curve of your back for comfort. “ shush, it's alright. no need to worry, hm?”

a soft moan escapes your lips. he gapes.

your eyes widened at the friction, feeling the tightness in your stomach coming undone. yuuji watches in curiosity. terrfied at the matter, you squealed, “ y—yuu please don't!”

his hand latches away, cold air now occupying your skin. “ i'm overly sensitive... don't do that, please?” yuuji hums in response, following suit to your request. the room would've been quiet if it weren't for the squelches of your sopping cunt, and yuuji wouldn't have been so turned on if he didn't hear it.

still processing everything, yuuji tried his best to get his mind off the gutter. his hands hovered on the dildo's handle, pressing random buttons to figure out how to turn it off.

but it seems like it didn't.

“ argh—hah—!yuu—ngh!” helpless and powerless you were. your insides were fired with the highest option, rapid thrusts and bursts of pulses indulging within you, groaning in utter pleasure and pain. “s—gh—stop!” you moaned, thighs attempting to rub together as if to say you needed more. you looked hot, yuuji knew that.

he was starting to rethink his life choices. you moaned his name and his dick twitched in his basketball shorts. you started crying yet he felt the urge to flip you over and fuck you raw. you were his best friend!

in a spur of panic, he spams more buttons to turn it off. “ sorry, i... didn't realize it would do that.” for fucks sake, he sounded so breathless. he was sorry but his thick cock sure wasn't. his boxers weren't helping, so tight around him.

you kept on whimpering, squirming on the bed until you weren't. when yuuji finally pulled the dildo out of you, juices squirted on his palms and the sleeve of his hoodie. he licked his lips, a huge lump in his throat hindering his stable breathing to which he gulped.

“ that was your favorite hoodie! fuck—yuuji i am so sorry!” you cried, looking behind you with lips bitten. that hoodie would be his most prized possession now.

his face wore something you couldn't describe, he looked out of it yet so focused. eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. “ are you mad?” you say with worry.

“ i'm not,” he smiles softly, reassuring your poor heart. “ i'll remove these from you, 'kay?” you nod at him, feeling drowsy at the wave of your orgasm subsiding.

every swift quips of his hot fingers freeing you from your misery, jolts of your hips accompanied it. the way it grazed you was sensual, intentional, but you weren't going to overthink things.

when he released you from the spreader bar, your body naturally lumped itself with the plush of your pillows. letting the need of sleep fill your eyes. while you were satisfied and free, there sits an itadori yuuji with fingers running through his hair, sweat running his forehead with a fear of realization that he had a thick boner.

a really, really, painfully hard, thick boner.

he was going to die.

the moment you woke up, the sun had already disappeared, the moon's bright glow replacing its golden hues. your body was still compensating with your orgasms and overstimulation, dealing with how you pushed your luck with those toys. embarrassment is an understatement, it was everything you felt but somewhere in the deep pits of your head, it turned you on so bad.

yuuji was himself as always, waking up to clean sheets and a simple white t shirt was expected of him. he never rummaged through your drawers, yet he made your bed and cleaned up your sex toys, placing it atop your desk chair.

he was the sweetest person you know and you made him go through all that. you were so close to killing yourself.

however, from across your room, itadori yuuji had other plans on his mind...well his cock.

squelch! schlurp! fap!

yuuji felt guilty for ever thinking of you in that way, but there he was with his fat dick in hand fisting away. on his free arm, he had the hoodie he wore a while ago, the one you squirted on. he held it tightly between his fingers, inhaling the scent of your sex feverishly.

he was going delirious.

each stroke felt like a wave of ecstacy, imagining it were you felt like drugs. heaving groans and whispers lulled the air into something so lewd. his head tilted, lips parted softly, and eyes shut tightly, while his palms teased the rim of his tip.

“fuck..” in long dragged out vowels, he didn't even deny it anymore how long this pent up frustration lasted. these thoughts were what he pushed in the back of his mind, now resurfacing, he pumps his sad, pulsating dick.

you were crying and helpless, he knew how adorable you looked when you were upset, he always teased you for it. was this now back firing? he couldn't get it off his mind no matter what he did. for fuck's sake he has had this boner in what seemed like three hours now. it was painful.

schlap! squelch! “ argh—hah..” [name], if only he could moan your name out loud. these walls were too thin.

he felt like a pervert for sniffing the sleeve of his hoodie, but you smelled so sweet that he couldn't resist. he was helpless. dying to chase that release as his hands curled and gripped tighter on his cock. would you feel this tight as well? he shook his head, no, you would be tighter.

and alas, the walls were indeed too thin. because now you waddled your way to the front of his room to thank him for helping you, yet were greeted by a disarray of heavy breathing and the sounds of his hands fapping his dick.

oh?

not knowing what came over you, you found yourself standing still next to the door, hand on the door knob without twisting it open. and thighs rubbing together by the lustful sounds his beautiful lips were making. this was bad..this was private. but what are the odds he was masturbating to you?

the wetness from your highs still remained intact, dripping onto your thighs which felt like a sticky and swishing delight. why were you so turned on by your best friend?

moments later, you heard his final groan, whimpering your name that made you squirm in your place. it was confirmed. he was masturbating to you. and now you had the tiniest ounce of confidence to open the door in thick sweat.

“ yuu? are you okay?”

it was a sight. his grey sweatpants were now stained black and the hoodie you thought he threw in the laundry was in his hand. he quickly threw the clothe away from your sight and his cheeks flushed with amber.

“ y—yeah?” he gulped nervously, “ you scared me.” his fingers hooking onto the neckline of his white t-shirt, airing out the fabric in his sweat ridden body.

from your peripheral vision as you closed the door shut, silence filling the space with the gurgles of his air conditioning, you saw he was shifting in his place. “ you still horny?”

his eyes widened, “ what?!— no! of course not.”

not needing anymore of his lies, you slowly went up to him while he got up to hold your hand. “ l-look i'm sorry for barging in your room like that and i'm terribly sorry for thinking of you that way.”

he was deeply sincere, “ i'm so sorry, [name].” you started at both your hands intertwined, he was always this kind. but you were having none of it.

“ that thing over here isn't sorry, you know?” smirking, you saw how his dick twitched underneath the thick clothe of his sweats. “w—what?!” he yelped as your hands found its way on his chest pushing you to the door.

“ let me ask you again, are you horny?”

yuuji warbled, “ no?”

it was frustrating, but you held your ground and lifted yourself on your tiptoes. chest heaving with anticipation. whispering to his ear sensually, “ sure you are.”

that was when it shocked you. yuuji's hands hovered on the curve of your back, now latching his rough palms on your skin and gripping your ass. “ yeah, fuck it.”

it was uncoordinated, heavy, and out of control. despite that, it felt incredible. his lips was luxury, his tongue against yours snapped you in half, and his thick clothed dick rhythmically thrusted in your hips. “ yuu—hah~” groaning against his plump lips, he pulls away and dips his head between your jaw and neck.

“ shit—you're so—” squelch! schlurp!“ beautiful under me, baby..” yuuji inhaled the crook of your neck, hands on your hips grinding you against his sheath. “ this is all you, pretty.”

wet open mouthed kisses on your collarbones and his left hand leaving the plush of your ass to play with your swollen breasts. “ yeah?” breathlessly, you held his jaw with both your small dainty hands, running your fingers through his undercut. “mhmn—” he hummed softly on your skin, leaving trails of hickeys all over your neck. the vibrations of his voice sent an electric current to your spine, leading it to your clit which was still bruised and aching.

“ jus' kiss me now, yuu..” his head tilted up when he stopped kneeling to stimulate your tits, he got up and opened his plump lips to you again. the hotness and slick of your saliva combining with his. yuuji's right hand cupped your cheek, angling him in a way which trembled your legs. “ you taste so sweet f'me..” he growled, “ such a fucking tease.” he says between kisses.

pulling away, a string of saliva connects you to him who was breathing heavily. your eyes— still watery— glowed like a deer's against his irises which stared harder at your beauty. heavy panting between you, and suddenly your being pushed to his desk.

tumble! splash! clink!

the table was cleared with a swift swipe of his arm, and he has you on the desk with both hands behind your lower back and head smushed down onto the wooden vinyl.

spank!

hefty hand prints left your naked butt on display, “ what made you think it was safe for you to try that here, huh?” his lips trailed open mouthed kisses on the indents, rises of your back. the feeling was sensational, unreal even. there were times where you felt like giving out, knees wobbling in place.

“ i thought you would be—hah!” squinting harshly and heavily breathing, through bitten lips you sighed, “ home later.”

thwack!

yuuji scoffs and slaps your ass, “ you know i'm home before five, right?” desire now blinding his head, he grinds the apex of your thighs on his growing bulge. he loved how your flesh rippled with every spank he did.

“ i know— yuu!” you yelped at the springing feeling, like dozens of needles jabbing at your skin yet you felt more turned on now.

“ naughty girl”

“ didn't mean to”

“ of course you didn't ” he chuckled and turned you around, “ right— fuck! right there yuu!”

your back now on his cold desk, and legs spread wide as he continued humping you senselessly through his clothed dick. yuuji kisses you shut, turning your whimpers into muffled moans. squelch! squelch!

he pulls away and licks your jaw.

“ came home just in time for that series you told me we'd watch the other day.”

right! you begged him to watch this new romance series netflix released. but with the busy schedules mixing up, it completely flew over your head. “ i forgot about that..”

“ and we're here fucking.” he grins beneath your feverish skin, all inhibitions out of the fucking window. you giggled softly while watching him ravage your body, “ well— technically we're not..”

hands on his head, his palms kneading your waist, and his lips leaving splotchy wet kisses on your navel, he smirks, “ wanna change that?”

“yes..” you moaned through his teases. principles and everything you've been overthinking are now left in the dark, demanding are your heeding needs.

schlurp! squelch!

his arms are now encircling your heated body, carrying you to his soft bed, laying you down his lap with hands so strong it imprinted on your skin. “ wanna tell me when you started using those without me knowing?”

splotch! thwap!

you've never seen yuuji in this light, demanding and stern. an indicator that he was in fact itadori yuuji, was his sense of humor and free nature. constant smiles and jokes, he was always so gentle towards you.

the heat pooling within you found its way on his grey sweatpants, gliding over his precum collecting on the clothe as well. “ i jus' bought those last week.”

fwop!

he tugs on your lips for entrance, his tongue grazing against yours, after a few heavy sighs you pull away. out of breath, he sighs in disbelief, “ really, now?”

yuuji's brows quips together, cute. “ yes, yuu.”

“you're really into that stuff?” his hands left your hips, running it up your back and onto your waist— schlurp!— heartbeats syncing in the quiet stance of the room, wet squelches of your kisses, yuuji found his way cupping your breasts from beneath your shirt— his t-shirt.

like fire blazing your already hot skin, his lips dragged on your jaw which worked open mouthed kisses to your collarbones. “ yeah..—fuck yuu!” he wasn't guiding your hips anymore, it was all you now. the right friction stimulated your swollen clit, juices lapping up to spread in your entire slit.

squelch! peck!

“ since when?” he asks, both hands beneath your ass, feeling the undeniable wetness of your pussy. “ don't know... 16?” you couldn't give him coherent answers, the pleasure just kept building up in your knotting stomach.

he chuckled in your ear, “ such bad girl, aren't you?” you frown at him and shook your head. “—hah— am not..”

yuuji knows how bad you are at denying things, he's already got you cornered. “ so too, ” he teased to which you rolled your eyes.

“ whatever,” playing with his hair was the most cutest thing you can do while he did sinful things to you down there. your once clear skin was now marked with dozens of purple-ish marks, splotchy wet looking kisses, and bite marks. “ no need to deny such things, pretty girl, i've seen everything i needed to know.”

banter with yuuji was fun and all, but you seriously needed something more, it was a despicable itch that you wanted out of the way.

fwop!

“ hey, yuu?”

schlurp!

“ hm?”

squelch!

“ i really need you and this isn't cutting it.”

fwap!

your best friend's lips tugged upwards, “ so needy, huh?” in that moment, he licks your bottom lip urging with desire.

“ shut up.”

he laughs at your response and pecks your lips, “ okay, baby. be patient, hmm?”

an irresistible pout enters your face, “ but i don't want to wait anymore.” your whines weren't giving him justice either.

“i dont know what's wrong with me [name], when i saw you cry like that, i never thought i would be this hard.” he groaned in your ears while his hard hands controlled your hips.

thwack! thump!

“ i never thought i'd be so turned on when you saw me like that..”

“ me neither” and he kisses you again—slosh!—you stop him, string of saliva connecting you both. you gasped, “ yuu i'm being serious, i need you in me.”

“ yes sweetheart, wait a little longer.”

without saying much words, your vocal chords let out a pitchy load of whines, turning something on in yuuji's system.

“ didn't i tell you to be patient?” his grip grounded you harder on the sudden rise of his clothed cock. right where his fat tip sits proudly against your throbbing clit.

“ hah—fuck!” your eyes rolled back in their sockets and the innermost part of your thighs started to hurt from how spread apart you are. never really taking into account how huge yuuji's body was next to you. “k-keep going like that—please..” he hums in contentment.

“ wear them again for me, yeah?” his low growl fluttered butterflies in your stomach, and you realize he was referring to your sex toys. a giggle escapes from your used lips, “ did that turn you on that much?”

he nods, a little embarrassed to admit it,“ hng—kinda?”

deciding to finally let loose and tease him, you rise from his lap and tangled your arms behind his neck.“ you can use whatever on me, i have more,” whispering sensually in his ears, you nibble on its shell, before gripping his soft chin with your hand and licking his jaw.

“alright, pretty.” he smirks, throwing you on his shoulders. a quick yelp managed to escape your shocked face, lips forming an 'o' when he slapped your ass again. “ think you can keep up with me?”

spank!

you laugh at him kicking the door open and leading you into your room, “ i know i can.”

“ let's see, sweets.” yuuji shuts your room's door tightly and throws you on the bed. “ hey! why so rough?” you got up from the cloud of pillows and see him taking his grey sweats off, then his shirt.

“ i'm having fun seeing you like this, can you blame me?” you shook your head, placing your foot on his chest when he knelt on your bed.

he pouts cutely, a hand on your ankle, “spread your legs, baby, i can't deal with this anymore.” your best friend was always one for teasing. he kept moving forward and you were resisting, now folded in half, yuuji backs up and pulls you towards him with your ankle. “ feel me, [name]?” yuuji whines, grinding your raised hips against his, “ i've been hard for 4 fucking hours, it's too much f'me, you know?”

“can't you remove your boxers yuu?” you cried, tugging on his arms. he shakes his head, “ that's for later, you've got to wait.”

thing is..you already felt him, hard and beating on you, his dick would twitch every few seconds everytime your cunt swallows his curve whole, coating it with your slick.

smooth strings of gasps from your breathy mouth lingered in the air as you threw your head against your pillows, hands gripping the sheets. this was something you've imagined since you hit puberty. sex...intimacy...fucking...you never understood the hype of dry humping, but now you do.

pink hairs frayed everywhere on his forehead, he looked beautiful underneath your light. your best friend held your chin with a hand as he humped you faster, your toes curling and legs now wrapped against his waist to secure him in place.

it was a mess, both of you were a mess. matched sighs, and matched quips of breaths, heartbeats and your cunt against his cock thumping the same way. “ in my drawer, i've got rope and a—hah paddle for— argh— spanking.” your cheeks were mushed together, making you incoherent but yuuji understood you the entire time. “later..” he groans in your ear, hands leaving your body now on the headboard thrusting harder and stronger.

rut!

it was cruel beyond repair, he knew you were coming undone with how tight you were gripping his hips with your legs. “h—fuck—yes!” he absolutely loved hearing your moans, a hand left the headboard and guided yours to his waist, “ push me the way you want it.”

thud!

blinking heavily at him, you hum. with one quick move, he's back to striking your hips with his. each slap of his groin leaving sounds of wet skin bulldozing each other, the squelching being lewder than sex itself. spring wires of your bed were squeaking, bouncing, and jumping, its wooden headboard thrashing against the drywall making it known to your poor neighbors of your current activities.

there was a rhythm established, indulgent ruts of his clothed dick, and you start pushing him harder and he chuckles, “ are you close?”

half-lidded eyes flutter open once more, “ y-yeah...” and they shut again, head sinking further in your pillows. with one last thrust, yuuji holds your hips upwards, lifting you up in the air and guiding it to circle his groin. it was as if he knew your body the way you did. it was coming, and you were preparing yourself for the aggressive wave of pleasure that will be washing over you...

until it wasn't.

and then he dips his head between your legs, wet tongue salivating at the hot scent of your sex. ecstacy and pure stars. this was your first time being eaten out and it felt so good. half of your body was still suspended up in the air while he grasped you with both hands on your hips, thighs now resting on his shoulders. “ h-holy—shit yuu!”

“mhmn..” he grumbles against your clit, an open mouth swallowing the small yet swollen bud whole. you tried reaching for him but it was too high up, a pathetic moan leaves your lips, tears bringing in your eyes. his closed lids and nose resting on top of the fats of your cunt while he worked you up with his tongue was all you ever wished for. “ hagh— so fucking sweet...” his head tips, mouth open and his tongue on display..mixed fluids dripping from his chin and tip of the muscle. “ you're a water fall.” he looked so hot, you knew that.

“ let's make you cum, 'kay?” he quickly dives in your cunt once more, now lapping at your pussy. a bodily function you never denied, hips now bucking into the swole of his tongue. slowly, he lays your hips down on the bed, the straining pain now going away. “hmnh...fuck..”

as you were feeling the buildup collecting in your stomach, his large, rough, palm pressed on it, and then he inserted a finger inside you. your once sleepy posture now wide awake. how was this any different from a dildo? heck, he felt amazing.

while he flattened his tongue passionately, circling your clit before cupping it and sucking harshly, his finger rimmed your tight cunt. “that dildo was small..” your head was spinning, he was incoherent to you, but you hummed.

he smiles softly on your cunt, “it looks sad next to mine, don't worry, i'll make you feel good.” before dipping again into his meal. haughtily making out with your cunt while your back was arching and spasming, it was unthinkable. mind literally blacked out by sex.

when the pads of his finger reached a spongy part within you, he started curling it. your stomach now tangling itself. “ yuu! sh-shit! stay there, please..” his forearms were giving out by how tight you were but kept on going. slurping all the slick while his finger pushed upward, curled, dragged in and out slow and steady.

once he found that rhythm, your eyes were completely shut, focused solely on the feeling of it all. both heartbeats you could hear from your ears panging loudly. “ fuck! yuuji!” you sighed, gasping with tears brimming in your eyes. you didn't even know you could cry while having sex.

soft hot sighs against the cold air, your high was undeniably coming. and as if sparks started flying, your head whips upward with both hands on his hair trying to push him away with heavy breaths. but he kept going, riding your orgasm out while your thighs squeezed against both ends of his ears.

hot liquid sprayed all over his face, he grinned. “ that was quick, right?” you couldn't even think straight anymore. he licked up our cunt and crawled to you, tucking stray hairs behind your ears. “ taste yourself,” now he's making out with you.

surprisingly, it had a tangy taste to it. sweet and salty in a way. your tongue roughed up with his before he pulled away.

after kissing you, he leaves the bed. “ which drawer is it, [name]?” head spinning, you lift your head up, seeing his huge bag in front of your vanity, “ the second one..left drawer.”

both of your hands rubbed your eyes, wiping the sweat and tears. yuuji's knee sinks onto the bed with him occupied by your bondage rope, paddles, and a blindfold. he sets them aside and holds both your wrists, pulling it away from your reddened face. “ we'll need to work on that stamina if you want to do bdsm, baby..look at you already battered up.”

i guess so,” you yelped when he pulled you up, “ how do you want me to tie you up?” through drowsy eyes, you crinkle, “ i think the million dollar question is if you can tie me up properly.”

yuuji pinched your cheeks, “ i guess not.” with a heavy huff, you pulled yourself off the bed, waddling to the desk chair.

“ here, use these on me instead.” you tossed the spreader bar on his lap and sat on the bed. yuuji holds the metal, shuddering over its cold feeling. “ ass up, baby.” quickly obliging in his request, you propped into position.

“yuu?” calling out to him, your bound wrists and ankles let you struggle to see him in a clear view. the desire pitting in your cunt was pooling, the wet sheets colliding against your hot skin. when you thought he'd be holding you with his firm hands, a loud slap bounced glaringly off the room. your hips bucked forward.

spank!

another slap burned needles on your flesh, a blaring red in a shape of a star teasing you. “ f—hu—fuck!” the shivering silicone glided from your lower back exposed, following the grooves and curves of your skin. “does it feel right, baby?” yuuji's voice calls on to you, “ you don't need to answer, sweets, your body does it for me.”

thwack!

lips trembled in utter pleasure and pain, soft whimpers eliciting from your soft lips. yuuji's strong hands now curving your ass with its roughness, the itch now getting worse. it was unbearable. you needed him inside you.

spank!

“yuu! please—hah..” warbling cries danced around his ears, turning him on by the second. he never knew he'd be into seeing you cry like that. his dick painfully twitched in his beat-up boxers. the once grey underwear now turned into a collection of his cum and your slick juices. “ what is it?” he spanks you again— this time with his hands.

“agh! HAH!”

seeing your ass ripple like a pond of water made him fight himself, controlling his demons to not abuse your vulnerable stature. “ you look incredible with my hand mark, pretty.” your best friend, who you once thought was a sweet innocent baby, smirked in your trembling figure. constant vigor of vibrations coming from your limbs struggling to keep up with him.

thwap!

your vision goes white, body going haywire. juices spilt everywhere from the impact, the paddle spanking your swollen cunt electrified your spine. “ yuu!— hiccup!—ahgh!” as you regained your sight, your vision went from the headboard to the ceiling. firm knuckles entangled with a hefty amount of your hair. “be a good girl and wear this f'me, yeah?” it was a sudden movement, and now your vision is blacked out.

slap!

“yuu!” you gurgled through tears, “ it hurts..” whining only made it worst as his hands forcefully bounced on your cunt. “a—agrh!” wails of your cries and intensified sobs satisfied yuuji's dick. “ does it now?” was he a sadist?

the paddle slid from your widened ass crack to the entrance of your tight cunt, the pointy end of the star dragging on your clit. “ like that, huh?” yuuji confirms when he sees you buck your hips forward and thighs clenching together for more stimulation.

fwap!

“ too bad you won't have that..” he smirks, hearing your cries. “yuu!—ple—hah!” your words kept tumbling over each other. “ please what, hmmm?”

spank!

f—hiccup!—fuck me please!” you were beyond tired, overstimulated and edged from his constant ridicule. “please!”

thwack!

visually impaired, you trusted your other senses to know what was happening, and the next thing you felt was being flipped over on your back out in display for him. “hngh—agh!”

thwop!

“ that's the last spanking you'll get, naughty girl.” yuuji's hands quickly freed you from the spreader bar, red marks in your ankles and wrists prevalent now more than ever. by the time his fingers slid on your blindfolds, his lips caught you in a deep trance. “ get back down on your face.” squelch! squelch!

his dick was excited, he was out of control. the heavy feeling in his chest kept banging loudly, annoyingly enough to disrupt his sense of hearing. “ good... that's good..” your thighs now able to squeeze itself together pressured your clit, giving you a sensation that you oh so craved. the tightness and warmth colliding with whatever slick was left.

“ open wide f'me baby..” a thumb stuck into the hole of your ass, lifting you up casually like it was a normal way to carry you. and then, you felt it.

yuuji's fat pink-ish tip gliding along your folds, squelch! schlurp! when it stopped at your gaping hole, a fwop! elicited from both your hot sex. a fat gulp stuck in his throat, he continues. “ argh..hah..so fucking warm..”

tapping on your clit with his heavy dick, yuuji hastily pushes it in your cunt, the curves and hollows swallowing him with a struggle. “fu—fuck! it hurts..” it was a huge stretch, breathing sharply made it worse.

“relax baby, i know you can do it..” you felt comforted by his cooes, a free hand caressing the plush of your ass...spank!— “ since you're such a good girl, you can already deal with a few thrusts, yeah?”

your eyes brimmed shut with tears wallowing the corners of your cheeks, lips trembling, you managed to utter a word, “too! t'much!”

he kept pushing through, testing your limits, “ but you're halfway there, sweetheart..”

the room filled in your undeniable whimpers and sobs, crying for him to either stop moving or start moving. “ hargh—hah..” your mouth gaped open ahead of you, the headboard getting blurrier by the second. “ is..it done?”

“ yes, you did so well, pretty..” low hums vibrated off his chest, “ let's see how much you can take.”

rut!

thwack!

thrust!

“hargh—yuu!—hah fuck!” aggressive sounds of the wooden frame of your bed starting clashing once more, dulling your mind with how hard his hips was bucking against yours. creak! slam! “ your pussy swallows me so cleanly, babe, you feel so great!”

he was hollering, in fact, yuuji could not believe how good you felt. his eyes started rolling into his sockets, balls contorting at this new experience. “ yuu! s-shit!”

there was no point in denying how aggressive and messy yuuji was in bed. the reactions you were giving him were enough to make him rut his dick inside you like a dog humping a bitch. it was too good to be true, back arching and toe curling. and the way he was fucking you, reaching the deepest parts of you, was insane. he was insane.

“so fucking tight —hah—holy shit— princess—hah!” through heavy lidded eyes, his strong hands pulled you up against his chest. now sitting on top of his muscular thighs as he bound both your hands behind your back with one fist and the other sliding down the curves of your waist. he fucked hard. his rough fingers dragged on your clit as he rutted his hips on your dripping cunt.

a soft moan left your mouth, still gaping by how great he felt, “fuck—yuu!” somehow you managed to smile, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “ see how good you taste, hm?” squelch!

your stomach glided with your wet slick against the tip of his fingers and dragged it along the corners of your mouth, “suck it.” and you obliged. eyes closed making out with his fingers.

“not so innocent, are you?” yuuji continued fucking your cunt with skill, thrusting in a strong but quick motion, enough to kiss the end of your cervix and the spongy walls of your pussy. “hmng!—no—hah!” it was amazing. you could do this all day, but bruises would end up showing with how he was manhandling you. his fingers left your lips and dragged down your hips once more. “can you last longer?” he whispers on the shell of your ear, “ i know you can..” thwack! thump! fwop!

the sounds of your sobs mixing in with the sounds of your squelching skins slapping filled the air. he was losing his morals, deviously aching to make you cry for longer. he wanted to hear how sweet you sounded, how innocent your tears would stain your cute cheeks, and he wanted to see how red your lips and eyes would get. it was unbearable, he needed more—yearned for more.

“ feel me?” yuuji's voice pulled you from your trance, a heavy hand pressing on your stomach, “ i'm up 'till here, baby.. can you see?” he grins against your jaw and bites down on your collarbones. distant cries echoes everywhere in the house. your stomach bulged with the tip of his dick.

“yuu—shit! yes..—hah!” your legs were spasming out from his mean, inconsiderate thrusts. the strength left in your body caused you to lean more on the bed, falling away from his back, slumping on the plush pillows.

he frowns, “ you're not going anywhere,” pulling you by your hips, grinding your cunt against his dick in strong circular motions.

“ as long as i've got you, you're staying where i want you to.”

spank!

it was as if the world went 360° when yuuji flipped you over on the bed, now laying on your sheets with your back against it comfortably, you sighed in bliss. however, you didn't realize how badly it felt the moment his dick pulled out from your moist folds, it was aching, burning for him.

“ack!” suddenly, you're folded in half. “ fuck, you feel great..” he loomed over you, lifting your hips in the air while his feet now firmly anchoring him as he quite literally slams his twitching member in your heat.

as if it went on forever, all you could do was throw your head against the pillows dumb fucked and sobbing, “harg—holy fuck!—yuu!” stable slams of his thick cock pecked the pulsating opening of your cervix, the fats of his huge tip scooping the juices from your slick pussy at every time he pulls back only to rut it back in. “ yes... i've got you, i'll make you feel good baby..”

“yuuji!—hiccup!—hah,” your throat was tightening up, salivating at the sensation, he was gripping your ankles so tightly it started turning white. chest heaving and ever needy you were, it was getting harder to breathe with how heavy his hips were crushing you and how he held your legs above your head. “holy—hah!—shit!” against your constant cries is yuuji's groans rattling in his adam's apple. his eyes were shut tight so painfully he started seeing stars through the dark light, dick twitching in your hot slick.

“ taking me so well, so pretty..”

yuuji's wet lips found its way on your calves, sloshing it with open mouthed kisses. the tingling feeling surrounding your already clouded mind. he felt sorry that he had you folded like this, but he was getting close. he needed to cum, he just had to. his manhandling turned you on even more, getting wetter with his precum swooshing inside your tight hole. “ t's feel good, sweets?”

you nod through tears, chin trembling and a sad turned pout with lips bitten, “fu—huah—yeah..” he kisses your heel, “right here baby?”

“mhmn..” whipping your head to the side of your pillows, eyes started to close tightly shut and a feathery moan building up in your throat. in a swift move, yuuji pushes your legs down, hooking it around his hips while his hands grip the wooden headboard again. holy shit.

fwop! thud! squelch!

“answer me with words!” he growls in each word, in each rut of his canine like hips.

“Is it right here?” he can hear your recognizable crying and wailing, but he yearns to hear your throaty voice echoing in his ears. squelch! fwop! " i've got you, c'mon speak.."

" y—he—hah—yes, right there!" you croak out and he smirks, holding your right thigh on his hips, “okay—” and slams his groin on yours unapologetically, earning a series of sobbing from you, of course from pleasure.

“—don't cry like that, you know what that does to me.” he cooes and licks your tears before dragging his tongue from your cheeks to your breasts and sucks on it “ i'm sorry.”

“ stop saying sorry, sweets,” he grins, “ i like it.”

you were near and crying and just whining, overstimulated and bruised, but that unforgiving boy kept on fucking you like a dog. your ass pushes down, thighs squeezing on him with hands on his hips to push him off, “yuu—wai—wait! hah!”

“ we can't stop now, sweets, we're almost done..” he tugs on your lips, wanting entrance and you give it. his hands leave the headboards, hooking it around your back, his warmth encasing you while his greedy dick pushed you to the edge. “hng..hngag” his lips leave yours and he's kissing your neck again, biting down and sucking.

“w—wait! yuu!” you had the crazy feeling yet, wanting to pee, but you know you couldn't. however with him grinding on you, it was impossible to pull away. “ no—no, i know baby, just trust me on this, 'kay?” yuuji smiles, but then plunging himself harder and faster than before.

“hargh!—wai—fuuuuck!” your hands groped his hips harsher trying to push him off with all your might, giving out because of how he fucked you good. “shushh...” his mouth catches your screaming whimpers, hand pushing on your tummy when he lunged deeper in you. stars. absolute stars.

it was innate, it was undeniable, your body just had a mind of its own curling your legs around his waist to keep him closer.

“w-wait— sweetheart i'll cum inside you if— you—hah!” you shook your head, “ do it,” in your throaty voice his eyes darkened.

thwack! fwop!

schlurt!

his hips suddenly went faster, probably the fastest he could ever ride you. grip on your body tighter and hands of your own pushing his ass harder to fuck you deeper. then— “ fuuuuck!”

splurt!

“ shit..hah..” his balls contorted against your heat, dick twitching in your cunt milking him dry. he strikes you once more, only to be greeted by a flash of hot clear liquid exiting your urethra, squirting all over his groin. “t—that was amazing...” he groans, tongue licking his dried lips caused by it gaping. you were flushed in embarrassment.

“why?” he asks curiously, wiping sweat from your face with rough hands. your hair which blocked your vision now cleared when he tucked them behind your ear, “ i'm embarrassed..”

he chuckles, “ now you're embarrassed?” a look of disbelief in his face mixed with a tinge of amusement.

you frown, “ i just.. peed on you!”

“ sweetheart, that wasn't pee,” yuuji smiles, leaning down to kiss you with a palm on your cheek. “ then what was it?”

he shrugs, “ doesn't look like pee, you just squirted..fuck i'm worn out,” slumping next to you, he scoops you with his arms. “ me—hah..too.” yuuji smirks in a way you knew all too well. “ fuck off!”

“ just saying!— it's understandable you're tired, i mean, taking my dick and all.. must've been new.”

“ eat shit.”

yuuji laughs, “ right,” kissing your warm cheek, now with his hands looming behind your left knee, lifting it up to accommodate his dick that was still.. surprisingly hard.

“fuck..” he pulls out slow and steady, pushes it in passionately. “yuu...i'm still sensitive..” but you wanted it as much as he did. “ play with your clit, [name].”

nodding through drowsy eyes, your fingers spread your slick folds and encircled your swollen bud. he was fucking you in a way he didn't a while ago. it was the right pace, a kind of pace that made you think he loved you. and he did. it was stable, not a fast fuck. his tongue caught your earlobe and nibbled, then licking your jaw as he thrusts into you with a slow rhythm.

sloppy yet controlled lunges continued.

“you close?” he asks, sleep in his voice. you hum in response and moan softly, “ in me..please?” yuuji snorts, “ don't have to tell me twice.”

it was exciting, gentle, and you felt amazing. like the prettiest girl in the world. a few moments later, he cums inside you and you're at peace.

“let's get you cleaned up, baby.”

then he pulls out, a puddle of cum and your liquid splashing onto your sheets. “ can you walk?” your hands propped your weight up, “ yeah..wait..”

with a sloppy attempt to pull yourself off the bed, you waddled outside your bedroom, cum dripping onto your bruised thighs. yuuji watched you from afar, eyes sharpening at the sight. he didn't notice how wide your cunt gaped now because of his fat dick, before he fucked you, it was just a slit. was he going delirious? he wanted more, seeing how used it was with his cock. looking down, he groans.

he's hard again.

your neighbors knew that you guys were childhood best friends so maybe...hearing your moans out loud dead in the night must've been downright horrifying for them.

yuuji followed you to the bathroom shortly after your waddles, the sounds of water splashing into the basin of your shared bathtub filled the marbled walls. “ where's your bath bombs?” he turns around and sees you hunched over the counter top, eyes observing your hickey ridden body.

“oh—” he promptly laughs awkwardly, “—so i may have overdone it.”

you glared at him, “ seriously?!” his hand whips upward as if he was guilty, “ what? you were so hot back there— i couldn't control myself, okay?”

“ how the fuck will i go to my lecture tomorrow? what the— on my jaw too?!”

he whines cutely, “ sorry, my bad! it was my bad!” yuuji stood behind you, hands on your hips pulling you close to him, “ look at you, so pretty..” his head was behind yours, inhaling your neck. “ you've got no idea how many times i've imagined you in my arms,” squelch!

his tongue flattens on your collarbones, swirling into an 'o' before suctioning it sensually. “ yuu..” his sharp breathing fanning on your skin, “ hmmn?”

“ you're giving me hickeys again..” you groaned in pleasure, “ you just smell so sweet, its tempting.”

an amused sigh escapes from your lips, “ and you're still hard.” he shrugs, “ so? cat's outta the bag.”

“ shut up..hah..” he fingers slid its way onto your folds, “ never.”

“ you still down?” he asks, gently circling your cunt with widened fingers. “mhmh.” he smiles on your skin, confirming your shared desire. “ that's right...”

in a short amount of time, you were bent over on the counter with only your hands gripping the slippery curve of the porcelain sink to stabilize you while yuuji was massacring your pussy.

fwop! thwack!

you didn't believe it was possible to be lifted off the tiled floors so easily, but apparently your best friend could do it effortlessly.

the heavy weight of his hands controlling your hips to rise from the floor as he scoops his to lunge inside you in a sweet angle made your eyes see stars all over the mirror.

“ spread wider, baby, js' like that..” he then grinds harder, feet grazing the tiled floors before being pulled up in the air with a rhythm. “ good girl..”

“yuu....fuck!” he was thrusting faster, sloppily like he wanted to cum so badly, and you were close too. eyes clenching together, knees wobbling in weakness, and lips leaving fog against the cold mirror, you reach your high.

“ seriously i don't think i can live normally after this...” yuuji kisses your cheeks, “ the bathtub's full.”

he plunged into the sea of lukewarm water after throwing in a bathbomb. “ sit?” he pats on his lap, sloshing the liquid on impact.

“ no.”

“ stop being silly, come here [name] im gonna clean you up.”

“ you might just fuck me again, i'm still sensitive you know?”

he laughs, “ i promise i won't.”

lies.

“ alright.”

you sink down on him, getting comfy with how perfect the water felt. “ your hair's a mess..” yuuji says behind you, gathering your locks with his hands. it felt weird because of his huge palms. “ that's because of you.” you uttered plainly. “ oh, i know.”

“ you cocky little shit.”

“ but you love me, right?”

silence answered for you, hums of his low voice cascading with the water. “ did i hurt you?” his thumbs spun spirals on your shoulders, “ i'm sorry if i did— that was my first time doing..all that.”

your eyes widened, “ you're a virgin?!”

yuuji shakes his head, “no— i meant, doing that bdsm thing..” of course he was no virgin, who were you kidding? that guy fucked like it was second nature. “hmm, okay, well to answer your question, you didn't hurt me. it was perfect.”

“ was it?” he asks, dragging his knuckles along your tight muscles, you nod. “ yeah..though i wouldn't know how to tell the difference of good and bad 'coz i'm a virgin—well— was.”

“i... didn't know that.” he slumps, feeling guilty all of a sudden, “ and i was so rough with you and you were crying and—”

“ oh, just shut up! i'm the one who's into that shit, why are you shocked and guilty?”

yuuji pursed his lips, but then you say, “ i know you got turned on by that..freak.” he chuckles awkwardly, “ yeah, i won't deny that.”

he finishes massaging you, now he's scrubbing your body with soap, hands gently lathering bubbles across your back.

“ did you really mean what you said?”

“ i said a lot of things, which one?” water dripping echoed in the bathroom, his hands reaching for a pool of it then splashing it on your skin.

“that you thought about me every night?”

“ um actually, i think about you everyday.”

“ okay nerd”

“ hmph!”

you turn back to kiss his cheek, sinking on him more as you found a comfortable spot.

he was done scrubbing your upper body and now he's just cleaning your waist then his hands were on your pussy. needy ass.

“ hey i can do that myself!”

“ okay? well i'm here so let me do it for you.”

“ no!” your pitchy tone was testing him.

he just adored teasing you didn't he? his hands rested on your hip bone, tapping the water. “ how is this any different than fingering you, hmm?”

“ i dont know, you tell me.”

“ alright.”

he then starts sensually touching you again. heavy breaths and calculated looks. you found yourself reaching for his bicep, turning around to look at him and he looks at you. huffing with panging hearts, you say, “ one more?”

“ jus' one more f'me 'kay sweets?”

and you repeated him, “ one more.”

he has your hands bound behind your back, his ankles spreading your legs wider and right hand on your clit. this is a feeling you can never get used to and you find yourself wanting it everyday. haughty sighs elicited from your lips, and your head is leaning to the right while his mouth occupies your neck.

his rough fingers enters you, one by one, plunging deep and steady, then replaced with his fat cock.

“let loose, baby...i have you..” your hips bucked backwards, itching for the curves of his dick. his groin meets yours when he thrusts upwards only when you slam yourself down on him. Sounds of water sloshing and the stirring of your pussy distracted your ears. “hah—fuck..yuu..”

“ i love you,” he whispers in your ear, fucking you gently now, finishing inside your cunt. “ i love you too.”

:))

@xoey101 @anything4yoongi @bloodsuckerslut @leavingdachat

#fanfiction #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen itadori #itadori yuuji #itadori yuuji x reader #jjk drabble #jjk fanfic #jjk yuuji #jjk itadori

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hazeljadie · 2 months ago

Text

UNSAID WORDS | PARK SUNGHOON

bestfriend ! sunghoon x fem ! reader | wc. 3.3k synopsis: you instantly clicked with Sunghoon since you've started university, not realising when your adoration for your best friend turned into unrequited love genre: angst, fluff [SFW] a/n: tbh, this one has been collecting dust for months now - but hey, it was time for my first post ever!

Three years.

It has been three years, and yet every time I tried to say those simple three words to him, my voice got stuck in my throat. Why?

Why could I not confess my feelings to him? Say the most simple three words without overthinking my decision? Was I such a coward?

Yes, that was exactly what I was - a coward.

Watching and loving my best friend for the past three years just from the sidelines was the only thing I could do. I was too scared to find out that he didn't reciprocate my feelings for him. Hurting myself over and over in the process just because I couldn't stand losing him over my lousy greed for more. This had become my way of moving forward in life.

I should be happy with everything I already had in my life…right?

"Y/n, are you sleeping?"

I looked up. Sunghoon was towering over me, concern etched onto his tired face. His eyes took my breath away as they always did, but this time I couldn't stand to look into them.

My feelings for him were starting to suffocate me. My eyes teared up.

"Y- Y/n? Hey, are you okay?" Sunghoon crouched down while I sat back up in my desk chair. "Keep it down, silly. We're in the library." I tried to swallow the lump in my throat and smile at Sunghoon as he took a seat next to me, but judging from his intense stare, I knew he wouldn't let go.

"I yawned. You know how I always tear up when I yawn." The boy in front of me raised an eyebrow as if that was the most dumbest excuse one could come up with. But I lied through my teeth as if it couldn't be anything but the truth.

I squished his face with both my hands to break the awkward tension in the air. "Oi, the great and mighty Park Sunghoon, don't you know it's common sense for people to get tired when they pull an all-nighter?" I pinched his cheeks to distract him from getting any more suspicions about me.

Sunghoon swatted my hands away, smiling slightly at my annoying behaviour. He was convinced that I was indeed telling him the truth. "Cut it out, Y/n. Give me your car keys, I'll drop you off at your place. It's raining now and the streets are slippery since the temperatures have dropped too much."

No.

I didn't want to be confined with Sunghoon in a tight space like my car. Being in uni was different. What if I actually cried this time? Sunghoon would push me for answers. What if I finally gave in? He would leave me on the spot and never let me see him again-

"Don't even think about it, Y/n. You are definitely not driving".

Before I could even say anything to him, he snatched away my bag, fishing out my car key from the front pocket like he owned it. Protesting didn't do much - he simply stood up and left for the parking lot, my car key dangling between his fingers. I packed away my scattered study notes and pens on my table and ran after him.

❁

It didn't take us long and we were already on our way to my apartment, the rain sound was lulling me to sleep and I had a hard time keeping my eyes open. Sunghoon didn't mind and turned on the radio, softly humming to the songs that were being played. His voice worked its charm as if he were singing lullabies for me and I finally drifted off to a deep sleep.

"Hey, sleepyhead, wake up." Sunghoon nudged my cheek ever so lightly, I almost thought I was imagining things. "Y/n, wake up. We're here."

It took me a great effort to open my eyes, but I knew for sure that I wasn't imagining the light touches on my cheeks. Sunghoon was actually stroking my face as if I were the most delicate doll in the world.

Was my vision clouded again? Were my feelings for him messing with my mind?

I didn't trust myself to say anything to him. Not when my heart was acting up like this.

Without another word, Sunghoon took my bag from the backseat and looked through my bag until he found my house keys. Now holding both of our bags in his arms, he stepped out of the car and ran to my building on the opposite side to unlock the main door, only to be drenched by the heavy rain within seconds. He slammed it back and made sure the door wouldn't close and dropped both bags on the floor.

With long strides, he ran back to the car, opened the car door on my side. Out of nowhere, he swooped me up in his arms, careful enough so I didn't bump my head against the car.

"Sunghoon, I can walk!" I shivered when I clutched my body tighter to his, both were drenched to the bones at this point. But he didn't listen to me. He only put me down after we were already inside my apartment, pools of water formed under our feet in the entryway.

I looked dumbfounded at Sunghoon. What was going on in his head?

"Thank me later, Y/n. Can I crash here? Driving in this weather would be a foolproof way to see God, no kidding". He took off his wet coat, shoes, mismatched socks and stepped into the living room without even waiting for my answer.

"Sunghoon, what are you doing?" I followed his actions and trailed behind him to the living room, standing in front of him as he plopped down on my couch. "Whadd'ya mean 'what?'"

I don't know if it was my stance or the way I stared blankly at Sunghoon, but he understood that I was waiting for an explanation.

"Y/n, do you want me to drive back to my place in this rain? I've stayed awake for two days, too because of our uni project, Y/n, just like you've-"

"Sorry, I wasn't being considered towards you." I don't know why, but having Sunghoon in close proximity while I was sleep-deprived was not doing me any favours. I was tired, hurting, stupidly hopeful but irritated nonetheless. Sunghoon didn't do anything wrong for me to snap at him like that.

"You can stay here."

Without sparing him another glance, I dashed into my room and slammed the door close.

It hurt.

It hurt so much when the person I love was just a touch away, yet I couldn't reach out to him.

Love was never a necessity in Sunghoon's life. All his focus went towards his goal, making his dream turn into reality. Ever since he was a child, he knew exactly what he wanted from his life, and he was so close from reaching it. Following his passion made much more sense to him than being distracted by love and all the problems that came along with it.

My growing feelings were one of them.

And I had to put an end to it.

❁

I changed into comfortable clothes and laid awake in my bed as I watched the rain crash down against my window, turning the world outside into a blurry painting. I let my tears flow free and didn't even want to wipe them away. There was a void in me and it drained me of all my energy. My chain of thoughts were interrupted when I heard loud sneezes in the living room.

I stepped into the living room, the cold air nipping at my bare legs and arms that my pyjamas didn't cover, only to realise that Sunghoon fell asleep on the couch while his clothes were still wet. The rain didn't spare an inch of his body. And the couch turned dark from the wet material that clung to his body like a second skin.

"S- Sunghoon!" I was shaking his arms urgently, trying to wake him up. He didn't bother opening eyes, "Mmm, Y/n, stop-" "Sunghoon, please get up, you are drenched! You'll fall sick if you keep sleeping here!" Thankfully, I managed to make him sit up on the couch.

I went back to my room to pull out anything oversize Sunghoon could change into. 'These black joggers and t-shirt would have to do…both are size L, right?' I went back to Sunghoon to give him the clothes and pushed him towards the bathroom that was attached to my bedroom.

I walked back to the living room and headed to the kitchen to fetch myself a glass of water. I just really hoped that he didn't come down with the flu or something. What even was this bad luck of mine?

Sunghoon didn't come out from my room and I was feeling paranoid all of a sudden. 'He couldn't have fallen unconscious in the bathroom or something, right?', Not wasting another second, I took quick steps across the living room and reached for my bedroom. The only thing that came into my view, though, was Sunghoon lying peacefully in my bed.

I was taken back.

Obviously, Sunghoon couldn't sleep on the couch since his clothes made it wet, but I somehow didn't think through where else he might be sleeping - there was only my bed and the drenched couch in my apartment.

Where would I sleep now?

As if Sunghoon could read my mind, his groggy voice cut through the awkward silence in the room, "Y/n, could you bear with me for one night? Please? I…I swear, I won't do anything to you". His voice turned into a whisper in the end, as if it only dawned on him how ridiculous his plea sounded. "Trust me, please."

Would I trust him?

I trusted him.

More than I trusted myself in this situation.

So without batting in eye, I went over to my bed and climbed in, leaving enough space between us.

"Thank you, Y/n".

It wasn't a simple thank you between two best friends. It was a 'thank you' for the trust a woman was putting into a man's mere words.

I could've kicked Sunghoon out for even suggesting such an idea, because that was the obvious thing for me to do.

Or I could've even shouted at him - anything but laying next to the person I desperately tried to avoid in the first place. It seemed like the rained washed away every ounce of rationality I had in me.

❁

Soft snoring joined the sound of rain splattering against my windows. I couldn't fall asleep anymore, even though my eyelids felt heavy. It wasn't until I felt Sunghoon turn around and snake his arm around my waist that I became awfully aware of how close we were pushed against each other.

Sunghoon's breathing was tickling my neck, but I was stiff in my spot.

Was I supposed to wake him up? Did Sunghoon even have the faintest idea about what he was doing? What were his actions doing to my heart? Was he still asleep, not hearing how my heart was about to give up from beating too fast?

I waited.

I waited for him to stir, pull his arm away, or do anything. Something.

But he didn't.

I took a risk and slowly turned around under Sunghoon's arm. His face was void of any reaction, his breathing was steady and Sunghoon didn't seem to be awake.

A lump formed in my throat and it didn't want to go away, no matter how often I tried to swallow it down. My vision became blurry until the tears were flowing out and slowly turning my pillow case a shade darker.

My right hand hesitantly reached up and stopped mid-air. What was I doing? Sunghoon will hate me for this. He doesn't love me.

But my body had a mind of it's own: I was lightly caressing Sunghoon's cheek, unable to stop myself from doing so.

Will I ever be able to get over my love for this man?

Will I ever be as important to him as his ambitions in life?

Was falling in love supposed to be this painful?

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't see Sunghoon's open eyes staring right into mine.

I froze on the spot.

But he didn't do anything after that. He wasn't moving away.

Why?

The rain had no intention of slowing down and was splashing just as forcefully against the window behind us as it did a few hours ago. But I was damn sure that Sunghoon could hear my heart thumping loudly in my ribcage.

It felt like an eternity had passed, with neither of us pulling away from each other. My hand was still on Sunghoon's cheek, while his arm was resting on my waist as if it belonged there.

"Why aren't you saying anything, Sunghoon?" My voice was shakey and barely audible.

Sunghoon's voice also came out in a soft whisper, "Am I…supposed to say anything, Y/n?" His eyes were still void of any expression. I didn't have the faintest idea about what was going on in his mind.

"You don't hate-" I took a sharp intake of air before I continued, "You don't hate me for doing this to you?" I looked at my hand on his cheek and back into his eyes. I was nervous of his answer.

"It doesn't feel wrong, Y/n." His voice was shaking. "This…feels right, Y/n."

My heart stopped hearing those words. Did he not realise what he was saying?

We were still facing each other, not knowing what we should do - we were just lost in each others eyes, when Sunghoon spoke up. "I don't know what I should do, Y/n. I'm scared of this."

This sentence pierced through my already hurting heart. I removed my hand from his cheek and tried to pull back, but Sunghoon's grip on my waist tightened.

"I'm scared of hurting you, Y/n." Sunghoon was tearing up.

"Why would you even hurt me-"

"Because I'm falling in love with you, Y/n."

My whole world came to a stop. "What?"

The way Sunghoon's gaze changed made me question everything. I've never seen him look at me like that - the vulnerability in his eyes made my heart ache in a way I never had expected.

Sunghoon's tears were staining the side of his face now, before he pulled me into his chest and hugged me safely in his arms.

"I've never loved anyone in my life, Y/n. It was never meant for me. People come and go in my life and I never look back at them. But you…I'm scared of losing you. I started to make an effort of learning about the things you like and dislike, about the things you do and love. Unknowingly, you became an irreplaceable person in my life - you became my best friend."

Sunghoon was stroking my head so lightly as if I could break from a wrong touch. "Staying with you became as normal as filling my lungs with air to stay alive. But I started to become greedy - I wanted to have you for myself. Y/n, I was never jealous of anyone or anything in my life, because for me, working hard meant that I can achieve anything, get anything I want. But with you…"

I pulled back and looked into Sunghoon's dark eyes. His usually sharp gaze looked so vulnerable right now. His voice was breaking, "For the first time in my life, I felt a fear: why would you stay by my side if I don't know how to love? How to love you? You know what love is, but I don't…and I've never felt so lost in my life, Y/n. What if I can never love you the way I'm supposed to do it? The way you deserve to be loved? What if you start to hate me and-"

I stopped him. My hand was resting on his lips as both of us couldn't stop the tears from flowing.

"Do you mean it, Sunghoon?"

He cupped my hand with his, kissing the very palm that shushed him mere seconds ago.

"Yes."

I wiped away his tears and scooted closer to him. I had the sudden urge to feel his warmth on my skin. My voice was equally hoarse as Sunghoon's was before.

"Will you…Will you let me stay by your side, if I told you that I love you?"

I knew I was pushing my luck at this point, but Sunghoon had planted a seed of hope in my heart, and I couldn't stop it from sprouting.

"Y/n, do you really love me?" His soft hands were wiping away my tears now and delicately cradled my face between his palms, "Would you really stay with me? Even though I don't know how to love you…the way you truly deserve to be loved?"

Unsaid words that seemed like a far away dream were finally seeing the light of the world for the first time.

I smiled through my tears at him, with a flurry feeling in my chest that made me gasp for air, "I love you, Sunghoon. I always have."

Sunghoon mirrored my smile and bumped his forehead against my own. His breathing quickened, like he was having a hard time staying calm. He looked up and gazed lovingly into my eyes, not breaking eye contact even once. "Say that again, Y/n. Please."

"I love you, Sunghoon…I love you, I love you, I love-"

He didn't let me finish.

Sunghoon's plump lips covered mine in a long, warm kiss that left both of us short of breath.

All the feelings, love and desire we had for each other were poured into this kiss. The way he was still caressing my cheek while kissing me made me light-headed. My lungs were on fire, and I broke our kiss to catch air. The rain had finally slowed down and the sudden burst of moonlight escaping between the dark clouds made Sunghoon's face appear so magical as if this was all a dream.

"Do you…really love me, Sunghoon?" I had to make sure that this wasn't just another dream of mine. I had to make sure that Sunghoon felt the same for me as I did for him.

"I love you, Y/n. I love you so, so, so much." Sunghoon's whole face lit up with the brightest smile I've ever seen.

I've never witnessed him smile like this before - with so much adoration, love and want in his eyes, it almost made me choke up.

"And I will do anything in my might to show you just how much you mean to me."

Sunghoon kissed me. Again.

It felt like our lips were always meant to be this way. Like they belonged to each other. Like this was the only way we were supposed to exist.

Sunghoon smiled into the kiss. He placed a soft kiss on my forehead. Then one on my right eye. Another one on the left eye. On my right cheek. One on the left one too.

Sunghoon started to place a trail of kisses on my neck and collarbone while his fingers delicately feathered over every inch of me within his reach. His lips traced my skin while he was moving lower and lower…and lower.

I lifted both of my hands and reached for his hair, using my soft grip on his dark locks to tug him back up to me, his lips were playing with mine again.

"Y/n", Sunghoon's voice came out as a strained whisper, "…there's still a chance to stop me, you just have to tell me once".

That unwanted fear settled back in his eyes: he didn't want me to regret our actions later just because we were getting carried away with the mood.

But I knew exactly what I wanted, what I needed to do.

And I've never been so sure about anything in my life like right now in this moment.

"Love me all the way and make me yours, Park Sunghoon."

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #enhypen au #enha x reader #sunghoon fluff #enhypen soft hour #enhypen soft hours #enhypen soft thoughts #park sunghoon angst #sunghoon angst #enhypen angst #enha #engene #park sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon

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braindeadjaidyn · 7 months ago

Note

Rafe following his babysitter into the bathroom

Fucking her against the door, holding her mouth closed with his hand

His family just outside in the living room, while he is fing her as hard as he can

BABYSITTERS CLUB!

summary:..-> reader and rafe always had a thing for each other. everything changes once she picks up a babysitting job, babysitting the one and only kook king.

warnings:..-> smut, p n v, bad dirty words, wards a douche, rough sex, rushed sex, both cum quick:(, sex that could’ve got them caught?? EVERYONE IS OF AGE!!!

word count:..-> 2700.

a/n:..-> hello pookie and pookies! okay so don’t be mad….i know I didn’t do the bathroom but I hope this okay! i got tunnel vision and didn’t even realize! im sorry if i edged yall with the constant build up. yall writing sex is HARD. anyway requests are open bye love u. AND BE NICE.

It was almost laughable that Rafe fucking Cameron, kook king needed a babysitter. It WAS laughable. Ward Cameron had contacted you through Facebook knowing of the fact you babysit. Yeah, you did, but not 20-year-old frat guys.

Ward Cameron: Hello Y/n! Your father told me you do babysitting and I’m looking to hire one for tonight! It would be for my son and daughter, it may seem a little odd. My apologies. I will be having some important meetings with a large group, and I don’t trust either to be on their best behavior. Please contact me back so we can discuss further! I’ll pay 500$ for 3 hours.

The message sent you into a fit of cackles, screenshotting the text and sending it to all your friends. The idea was so tempting. So fucking tempting. 500$ for 3 hours was a literal steal…Yet you were going to be in the presence of the insufferable Rafe Cameron. You hadn’t had many interactions with Rafe, he usually just teased you for being the ‘prude good girl’ every time you told him no to hook up. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t think about letting him fuck the shit out of you, hell you almost did. Every time you’d open your mouth to try and agree he’d open his spewing his bullshit, immediately forcing you to shut your own.

You bit at the soft flesh on your bottom lip, tapping the phone with your eyes trained on the text. Fuck it. 500$ for keeping the cocky frat boy in line sounded so good, so so fucking good. You agreed, and your thumbs moved quickly over the screen. Your lip was still tucked firmly between your teeth as you waited for his father’s reply.

Y/n L/n: That sounds good! Thank you so much Mr. Cameron! I’ll be there. When should I be there and can I have the address?

Ward Cameron: Of course Y/n! My meeting is in about 40 minutes, I would like you here as soon as possible. I will be here the whole time so I’ll give you a rundown of responsibilities and such when you arrive. *address*.

This soon? You immediately scrambled to your feet, throwing on some more appropriate clothes than your lounge ones. You were so quick you thought your heels were on fire.

Soon enough here you were on the Camerons porch knocking on the front door. Jesus, why did you agree to this? Fuck. The only time you ever interacted with Rafe was when you were fucked up, now here you were sober about to babysit the grown-ass man. This is ridiculous. The door swung open, of fucking course Rafe Cameron was the one to answer it. Sporting his stupid handsome smirk and backward cap. “You’re the one who’s keepin’ me on a leash tonight girl?” He drawled, flashing you his teeth.

Goddamn, his fucking fine ass. You tongued the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at his comment. With a tilt of your head and a soft huff, you finally met his gaze. “Just shut up and let me in Cameron,” With that Rafe chuckled, shaking his head as he moved from the door opening it further. You could feel his sharp stare as you walked past him and into the house. You were a little in awe at the niceness but quickly masked it, tucking your face back into its resting expression. Rafe didn’t miss it as he sidestepped around you, his smirk only growing.

“You never been in a house this nice princess?,” Rafe taunted, his smirk replaced with a smug smile.”Come on, my dad’s in here,” He led you further into the home, and you lagged behind. Cursing him internally at his snarky comments. Why was this dude such a diva? You followed aimlessly looking around at the different decor, this was so different from your own house.

Ward Cameron sat on the sofa, his attention on the laptop resting on the marble coffee table, his fingers working against the keys. He just looked like a dick, great….Rafe cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. You picked up his sudden change in demeanor, his once arrogant self replaced with a look that looked like a kicked puppy. It was sad, actually very sad. But you shrugged off your sympathy as Ward glanced up his face lighting up in foe friendliness. “Y/n my dear. Thank you for coming,” Ward greeted, closing the distance between the three. “Right well, I'm having a large meeting this evening. Lots of colleagues and other investors are joining me today. We will be using the living room, my office would be far too cramped. I’m just asking you to keep an eye on everyone and out of the living room.”

This man just screamed condescending. You nodded, sending him a soft smile. Once again you fought the urge to roll your eyes, how did he expect his grown son to listen to her? He was Rafe Cameron. It was widely known he doesn’t listen to anyone. “Yes sir, I can do that.” You spoke softly and sweetly, it was an act yet you wanted that 500$. Rafe sent you another smirk before he licked his lips to keep his dirty comment to himself. Ward nodded, reaching out to softly pat your shoulder. He quickly pulled away, and you fought the urge to jerk away. “Great! Well, Rafe behave. You’re 20 years old. It’s ridiculous that I had to even hire her.” Ward shot his son a pointed look, which made Rafe emotionally cower. Rafe just firmly nodded, his arms folded over his chest. You had to divert your gaze, your cheeks heating as you noticed how his shirt sleeves were straining against his muscles. Fuck.

A firm rushed knock at the front door thankfully interrupted your sinful thoughts. Ward immediately jerked his head to the noise, moving past the young adults. “Right, that's my meeting. So see you both later.” Ward called as he barely bothered looking over his shoulder at the two. He disappeared out of the living, and you could feel Rafe's eyes on you. Jesus Christ, does he have an off button? You met his gaze, surprised to see it was blank. “What?” You questioned, your face slightly twisted and your eyebrow arched.

Rafe just sighed deeply, running his hand over his cap. “Let’s get upstairs before he throws a bitch fit,” Rafe muttered, his body already moving toward and up the stairs. You followed, your heart beating wildly. It felt weird how domestic? No. Casual. Yeah, how casual this was. His long legs ate away at the distance of the stairs, you lagged behind feeling a little awkward by everything. I mean you’re fucking babysitting Rafe Cameron and his little sister, it was weird. You made your way to the top of the steps, glancing at him awkwardly for his next move. You could already hear the chatter from the men downstairs.

“Quit actin’ all fuckin shy girl, Les’ go Sarah’s in here,” Rafe smirked his head cocking over to a door, his hand pulling the door open. “How’s it hangin’ Sar?,” You were now standing in the doorway of what you assumed was a movie room, you knew they were rich but they were richhh. Sarah barely glanced up from her phone at the duo, shrugging her shoulders in response. Rafe plopped down on one of the sofas, legs spread open as he looked you over. “Sooo, are you always this weird when you're sober princess?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his words. He was so damn cocky and for what? You scowled at him, your pretty face twisting. “Do you always need a babysitter at your grown age?” You snarked, your hands crossing over your chest and you shifted your weight to your hip. Rafe took notice of that and eyed your hip for a moment, chuckling as he tongued the inside of his cheek.

“Real cute baby, don’t be throwin’ that up in my face.” Rafe rasped, his eyes looking over you cocking his brow at the fact you were still standing in the doorway. He patted the cushion next to him, a smirk on his lips. “Don’t be shy princess, I won't bite.”

You thought for a moment before begrudgingly plopping yourself down next to him. It was a small couch, so small you were brushing thighs with him. You averted your gaze as you felt your cheeks flush at the contact. You knew he was planning something, you could feel it in his stares. Rafe was planning something, more so just thinking about fucking you stupid over the armrest of the couch. He was going to hell for what he was about to ask, especially with Sarah in the room. He leaned forward, bracing his hand on the top of the couch. Rafe's chest was flush against your shoulder, his head ducked down by your ear fanning his breath down your neck. “Why won’t you let me fuck you princess?”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, his breath sending your mind into overdrive. You bit your lip, adjusting your skirt to try and compose yourself. You were bright red and you could feel it, you could also feel the ache between your legs at his tone. You had to remind yourself Sarah was in the room. You looked over at him and felt like you could melt when you met his smug gaze. “I mean..I-I would-,“ Your voice was low and quiet, careful for Sarah's listening ears, but before you could finish Sarah's dramatically loud groan and the thump of her phone cut you off. You were so down bad.

“The fuc- The wifi just went out, ugh. Rafe fix it,” Sarah whined, looking at her older brother with pleading eyes. The only issue was the router was in the living room. Rafe sighed deeply at the interruption, glancing over at Sarah with narrowed eyes.

Rafe definitely couldn’t go down there and fuck with the router with his dad having a meeting. It was the whole point why Y/n was there. But he could get her downstairs and alone…So tempting in his pervy brain and worth a shot. “Fine. Come on Y/n. Be my cover.”

Seriously? He was going to go down there, practically asking for a meltdown from his dad. Before you could protest he had you by the forearm and dragged you out of the movie room. “Rafe-“ You went to speak but he cut you off as he pressed his finger to his lips, silently shushing you as the two of you crept down the stairs. You both met at the bottom of the stairs, the living room just around the corner, a wall protecting the view of the duo. The laughs and voices of multiple men were slightly muffled from the distance.

You crept forward, keeping close to the wall not without shooting Rafe a pointed look. You were falling right into his dirty trap, just like he wanted. His mind only focused on fucking that cunt and your interrupted words. Before you could peek over the corner he pressed your back flush against the wall, his body eliminating the distance as he pressed his front to yours. He smirked down at you, his eyes roving over you like you were prey. “Finish your sentence, pretty girl.” He commanded, his voice low, careful to not attract anyone’s attention.

Your mouth opened to speak but the words were lost in your throat. Your mind was spinning at the closeness, your pussy was practically pleading. You could only hold his intense stare, his hand snaking around to grip the back of your thigh. “Say it. Tell me you want this dick baby.” Rafe cooed his mouth coming to your ear, his lips brushing the skin. Fuck this. You were already soaked from his touch, his words only increased the throb. You couldn’t believe what you were about to do, but it was Rafe fucking Cameron…

You nodded weakly, hands fisting his shirt as you lifted the thigh he grasped. “I want it, please.” You wanted to smack yourself for the desperation in your tone, but you never wanted to get fucked like you did now. Rafe pounced, his lips immediately crashing into yours. It was sloppy and full of need. God, he kissed like a fucking whore. You couldn’t help but mewl against his lips, your body felt like it was on fire. His hands were everywhere, leaning his body against yours as his hands grabbed the flesh of your ass from under your skirt. Which earned him another soft mewl, yet it was muffled by his soft lips. He rutted himself against you, god this was so nasty. So down bad. But you were fucking loving it. So was Rafe.

He pulled away, his chest heaving with heavy deep breaths. His lips were wet, and he looked sinful. You moved your hands to the waistband of his shorts, working away the button and zipper. You couldn't help it truly. Rafe liked your eagerness, his ego inflated as well as his dick. “Needy fuckin’ girl.” Rafe tsked lowly, assisting you as he tugged away down his shorts, his hands moving to the waistband of his boxers, he couldn’t help but smirk at your reaction to the tent in his boxers. Your eyes were wide, pretty lips parted in need. He freed himself from the boxers, fisting his cock as he looked you over. Fuck. He was so hot. You took this as your cue, you moved your panties to the side. This wasn’t the best spot to get caught fully exposed…

“Rafe…What if someone- fuck- mph-“ You whispered, cut off by Rafe thrusting his cock into you his hand clamping over your mouth. He kept his other hand on the back of your thigh, as he pounded into you. His cock was moving in your slick walls at a relentless pace, his fat tip brushing areas you never knew existed.

Rafe had his lips parted, his head hung back as your pussy clenched tightly around him. He kept his hand firmly clasped around your mouth, he smooshed the side of your face into the wall, his cock fucking into you at an unforgiving pace. The sound of your pelvis’s kissing was sinful. “Take it, take this fat dick,” Rafe growled lowly, his eyes glancing to the corner of the wall as he heard a couple of men speak louder.

You couldn’t even muster a response, let alone voice it due to his harsh grip around your mouth. You could only pathetically whine and cry against his palm, as his cock brushed that spongy spot deep into you. Your teeth grazed the flesh of his hand as he repositioned his thrusts, fucking you upwards against the wall. You clawed at his arms, your cunt squeezing tightly around his cock. God, you couldn’t believe how close he had gotten you so quickly. Your lower stomach burned with need, your core aching for release. You could tell Rafe was close, his brows knitted and his lip tucked between his teeth. His cock twitched in your velvety walls, he dropped his hand from your thigh moving his fingers to firmly rub your clit. You bit at the flesh of his hand, hoping to muffle your screams as you crashed over the edge. Your body trembling, eyes rolled back as you made a mess on his fat cock. You clamped down on his cock as Rafe let out a deep groan, planting his cock deep into you as he painted your womb with his warm cum. Your chest heaved with fast shaky breaths, you just let Rafe Cameron fuck you against a wall, while his father and however many men were on the other side.

Rafe pulled out of you, a sly smile on his lips. He pulled your panties back to the side and tucked himself back into his boxers with a chuckle. He held your wide blown-out gaze as he pulled his shorts up. “You’re a shit babysitter princess.”

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jjk4isen · 10 months ago

Text

ꗃ 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝟏𝟎𝟎𝟎 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐍𝐎𝐖.

❝ you're not a curse, you have never been. you were my blessing and my salvation– the best thing that has ever happened to me. you cleared my skies and showed me how it was to love… and be loved. ❞

summary: when your entire village faced the king of curses' wrath, you were sure you'd be as good as food for him but life decides to weave the strings of fate and intertwine yours with the very person who tries to cut it short.

desc: 8.6k words, f!reader, sfw, angsty angst hehe, major character death, cannibalistic thoughts (sukuna is a cannibal after all), takes place in the heian era, true form sukuna, bit ooc bc we know his ass isn't capable of love, ! slightly gory parts!, this is canon bc i said so, kenjaku isn't known as kenjaku yet – he's still known as noritoshi kamo, yorozu mentioned, basically just me raw dogging the storyline during the heian era lol.

notes: this took way longer than it should but i battled like three burn out sessions to write this so lmao. also does anybody get the aot reference in the title? this might MIGHT have a part two if i can think of a good plot to mirror it. if you get the reference, you'll alr know what it's going to be titled :P

must be horrifying isn't it? being a mere human amongst sorcerers and curse users capable of destroying and killing— powerless among the powerful whose thirst for yet more power remain a bottomless pit of unquenchable desire.

in this state of the world, your life wasn't your own. it belonged to the people who were strong enough to kill you or considerate enough to spare you.

and among dangers looming throughout, one triumphs all. one whose name was even powerful enough to send curses back at just the mention of it.

ryomen sukuna. feared by curses and non curses alike. the ruthless evil entity who feeds off of humans. there is no doubt about him being the king of curses, capable of having any being in the palm of his hands.

including you.

your village faced the wrath of the king of curses himself, not a brick was intact nor a rock left unturned. and what's even worse? he didn't have any reason for his destruction. he just did it out of his sheer will.

perhaps you should consider yourself lucky to have your life spared, along with some other women and children. all the men were gone without traces — maybe for the better.

trapped in the basement of the castle’s kitchen, you await your fate to be eaten.

what was that you said before? lucky? no, you realise how horribly wrong you were. the wails and cries of terror as yet another person was dragged out of the small room was enough to ring in your ears forever.

the sudden quietness that followed soon after was enough to suffocate you.

the room was dark, wet and disgusting. it reeked of decomposed bodies and blood. nobody was fed well and even if one or two loaves of pitiful bread were thrown into the small cell, it wasn't nearly enough to feed a group of starving people.

at least the number keeps decreasing day by day.

you'd notice how the people who cried, begged or fought back were likely speeding up their deaths so you kept to yourself, waiting for your turn, even if it's just a while later.

after what you think was a couple of days came your turn. you had lost your perception of everything in this tiny suffocating room; you might as well be dead.

you heard some loud clanks of the metal door and suddenly, a harsh pull sends you essentially flying towards whoever was grabbing you.

“this is the last one” you heard a gruff voice say as a light shone inside. it felt like ages since you saw any sort of light, of warmth. in a way, you were relieved. your suffering must be finally coming to an end.

“its this one isn't it?” a low voice asks as they being a lamp closer to inspect you. your eyes were opened and after a long while, you saw again.

“why is she in such a weakly state?” the person holding the lamp grimaces at your sight. through your hazy vision, you could still make out the white hair, perfectly in place. they were beautiful.

“well that ain't my fault is it?” the big creature yanks your arm and you fall wherever it does.

suddenly shards of ice fill the room and the fire from the lamp is put out. in its place is a glowing icy caricature of the creature, holding you intact.

as terrifying as cursed techniques can be, they were also mesmerising. the beautiful fridgid sculpture leave you in awe; the rough hand holding your arm was now frozen and unmoving.

“now.” the icy person leans down, meeting your eye level, you hadn't realised the dim moonlight illuminating the ice crystals in the room “what shall we do with you?”

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

the next time you're concious enough to make out your surroundings, you find yourself in a small dimly lit room. it was heaven in comparision to the previous one.

you scrumble towards the small lamp and take in the warmth. you had no idea where you were, what happened or what would happen but for now, you were alive. barely, but alive still.

weakly, you sit on the floor— there isn't anywhere else to sit anyway. upon hugging your knees you notice an apparent bruse on your arm. the same place where you were grabbed, the memories come back slowly.

did the white haired person save you? could you maybe have a chance at life?

no, being in captivity by the king of curses himself tells you enough that you weren't going to make it out of here alive. well, it's not like you necessarily want to either. your home and the people in it were gone, some of whom you witnessed their end.

it's only fair for you to meet the same fate as them.

the sound of the door unlocking interrupts your thoughts, then in came the person with snow like hair.

“finish this” they hold out a tray of food and set it down next to you. you only lean away defensively.

without so much of another word, they make their way towards the door that is, until you decided to stop them.

“you saved me didn't you?” it had been a while since you even heard your own voice and you don't miss the way it sounded more resigned than it had ever been.

“do not be fooled. it is all in consideration for my master. finish the plate” with that they walk away, leaving you with even more questions than before.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

when the certain white haired person decides to show up, they look pleased with your health. well, it should come as a no surprise since they keep feeding you — overfeeding you in fact. and you know why.

fatten up the stock so that it's in top shape when it's time to consume it.

“follow me” they say, holding the door open.

obediently, you follow the person you owe your life to, for now anyway, and they lead you through alleys and stairways you had never seen before.

only sounds of footsteps and your exhausted huffs can be heard in the hallway filled with various markings on the wall. you don't even want to know what they mean.

“so… how do i call you?” you manage to ask, maybe if you try to get close to them, maybe they can help a second time.

don't kid yourself.

no reply comes and you feel heat rush to your cheeks from embarassment. but hey at least you tried.

your wandering eyes missed to see them stop before a certain door and you crash into them with a grunt. they must be well built because the impact did not faze them at all.

“sorry” you rub your nose that was sore from bumping your face into their back.

“i go by uraume. i am master sukuna's loyal servant. beyond this door is the garden and you are to take a walk twice a day to build up your stamina. i shall be checking on you daily.”

“why should i need to do that?”

“do as you are told. now go” they open the door for you.

beyond the door is a garden too beautiful to belong in the palace of such an abominable being. flowers of all kind adjourn each corner, flourishing in all their bloosoming glory.

the sky was as clear as can be, with the sun brightly shining as if it's wishing people a good day. the birds chirping and the gentle breeze that brushes through your hair reminds you of your home back in the village and your heart aches a little.

“thankyou” you turn back but uraume is now long gone.

gee must people be so cold around here?

you stroll along the garden, savoring your time outside in so long. how long has it been exactly? you couldn't recall. maybe you should ask uraume the next time they come around.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

only this time when uraume does show up, they don't lead you towards the garden. instead, you find yourself at the door of the king of curses’ throne room.

uraume doesn't say a word and only ushers you in.

is this doomsday? you recall the screams of fear from the people you used to share a home with. the look on their faces, their nails desperately clinging onto the prison bar while pleading for mercy — all of that for naught.

and the silence that followed.

it's possible that the well timed meals and the strolls you took in the beautiful garden was the mercy your people begged for but never got.

maybe you should be thankful you even got to have those.

“master is impatient. you should go in right this instant” uraume insists. something about their behaviour tells you if you don't do as told, you'd have a fate worse than what you could ever think of.

with all the courage you could muster, you unlock the door and take strides into it, as confident as you could make it seem.

the four armed monster looms in front of you, starting down at you as if you were only a mere bug.

perhaps you were — small and helpless, under the mercy of the predator who had seen you.

you bow politely, it seemed like it was the only appropriate thing to do.

sukuna thinks you're pathetic.

just a mere human and not worth his time. there was only a small reason as to why he hasn't had his way with you yet.

your flesh and blood.

to him, you smelled hauntingly sweet and hypnotisingly alluring. that was what drew him to your village in the first place — the hunt for the sweet scent that awakened all his senses, although he doesn't have any idea why.

sukuna is a curious being, he seeks to know the mysteries of the world — one of the reasons why he's so wise, adding to his strength.

so until he has his answers, he plans to keep you around. after that, he can enjoy your flesh however he wants.

just you standing mere feet away from him was enough to tempt him to bite you already. how would it feel to sink his teeth into your skin and have your blood flow down his throat? sukuna couldn't wait until he has the chance to do so.

“leave.” the monster only dismisses you after staring at you so intently, he might as well be staring deep into your soul.

you look up at him in confusion, why would he call you here without any particular reason?

“do your ears not work, human?” sukuna says, rather impatiently.

“lower your gaze and know your place, fool” he practically growls and you look away faster than the speed of light. one more bow and you're bolting out the door.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

your stay at the palace was a cycle of eating, sleeping and taking strolls. it was beginning to get monotonous, boring even. but its much better than facing the king of curses ever again.

you still had no idea why he called you to his throne room and honestly, you don't even want to find out why.

life wasn't so bad — the flowers were beautiful and smelled lovely, the meals were scrumptious and your sleep? well nightmares were inevitable but there were nights when you slept like a log.

and unbeknownst to you, a certain four eyed creature could be seen watching over you. no, observing you. its only right for him to observe his prey right?

it's not out of the goodness of his heart that when you whimper and cry out in your sleep because of a weak nightmare curse looming over your head, he kills it with only a tilt of his own. no, it's only because that curse deters your well being, hence your development to reach your full potential to be a perfect feast for him. nothing more.

weak human, you don't have the means to kill such a low grade curse or even see it. so why were you special? what makes you so different than the other filthy beings with no cursed techniques roaming the earth? sukuna still couldn't tell.

he's aware though — of your silent fear and unspoken resentment you have towards him. he's aware of your quivering soul whenever you sense his presence. he's aware of your desire to escape this place.

but he's also aware of how your smile becomes a little more genuine when you smell a particular flower in his garden. he's aware of how your eyes soften when you see the setting sun. he's aware of how you tried to get close to uraume and only get shut out. he's aware of you.

and that angers him to no end.

what infuriates him even more is how that pathetic servant thinks he can talk to you, and with such ease too. how dare he speak lowly of you? that's a direct insult to him isn't it?

‘you mean less than a concubine?’ sukuna scoffs at him for even comparing you to one.

so the next time he calls the council for a lecture, he doesn't even blink one of his four eyes when the said servant in question gets slashed by his formidable cursed technique.

the room grows thick with the smell of blood that was now splashed all over the carpets and tapestry hanging on the wall—a grueling task for the cleaners later.

“every tongue that rises against my prey shall fall.” the headless body of his once loyal servant serve as testimony to his words.

the palace may be big but rumours flew around: another servant ruthlessly executed by the monstrous beast. even the people under him weren't given an ounce of consideration.

is it a coincidence that it was the same person who cornered you just a day ago? you don't ponder.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

after the ruthless slaughter of your village and everything in it, it didn't take long for sukuna to find his next target.

it wasn't anything new to anybody at all that he was a bloodthirsty beast, revelling in chaos and ruin. one after another, his victims were crushed mindlessly and so easily, it made you sick how powerless other people are in comparison to him.

out of all his battles and countless destruction, one prominent opponent was the fujiwara clan.

they were an elite clan, taking pride in the strength of their squadrons. the world held its breath upon hearing of the battle, maybe they had the potential to rival the king of curses.

the outcome didn't change though. sukuna remained prevalent—bringing the sun, moon and stars at his feet. the five empty generals did not even measure upto him.

the battle must have been so agonising to the point where the authorities were willing to hold festivals in his honour, out of utter terror.

it was at this harvest festival where sukuna had encountered a certain shameless sorcerer who was on her way to be completely obsessed with him.

yorozu had only one goal: to alleviate sukuna's loneliness with her love — something she believed only she was capable of.

thus why she leeches onto him, much like a hick. perhaps sukuna doesn't see her as a threat or he deems her powerful enough, he didn't get rid of her, for now at least.

however, her dreams were short lived.

yorozu sits next to sukuna in his throne room, enticing him with gentle nudges of her exposed chest. her haori was united and her hair fell graciously past her shoulders all the way down her chest.

she only shrieks in horror as she stares at the uninterested man. “you look different… you are different!” she screams angrily.

sukuna only hums in response, deep in thought of how his little prey has been holding up. despite his festivities and celebrations, you were there in the back of his mind, like an itch that cannot be quite scratched.

she stares at him, stepping back further and further “it couldn't be…”

yorozu brings herself to her knees, looking up at sukuna desperately. “i have so much more to teach you about love and the ultimate strength and solitude that it brings!”

she rises, her eyes were erratic, anyone would be afraid of her outburst that was about to come. anyone but sukuna.

“im the one who will teach you about love. that is my purpose and my goal. now tell me, who is it that is taking away your loneliness?”

sukuna raises a brow. it's possibly the only time he indulges yorozu’s antics and also the last.

“i will find out who it is! it doesn't matter if i have to tear this palace apart” yorozu violently darts out the room in search of something, anything. to her, if it was powerful enough to move sukuna then she would have no trouble finding whatever it is.

and she doesn't. not because you're too powerful but rather because of the lack of it. you stuck out like a sore thumb with no cursed energy running through your body, weak and unarmed just strolling across the garden— like the pathetic human you are.

sukuna arrives at the scene, ever observing, ever thinking.

“that is not true love” yorozu mutters, her fists were clenched on her sides as her gaze burnt into you who was unknowing of the fury burning inside her.

“you're mistaken, sukuna. i will show you what real love looks like!” yorozu screams, making her way towards you who could only stare at her in fear, frozen in place.

it would take sukuna less than a blink of his eye to stop her but he was intrigued. what would he feel if you were to be killed? would he feel pain? anger? the beast always finds his answers so he waits.

and what was that about true love? does that woman think he was capable of it? with you, no less? she sees you, a mere human, as a threat so that must mean something.

yorozu lands on you, digging her nails into your skin, blood gushing out of it. sukuna admires the sight.

you scream in agony as she continue to scratch through you and into you with ease. a maniac expression forms on her face at your slowed breaths and now silent helpless whimpers.

but before you were completely gone, sukuna gets rid of her. you were too busy holding onto your life to tell how he did it but one blink was enough for her to be gone and another makes you realise you were caged in the arms of the four armed monster.

“interesting” you heard sukuna say, before your lashes flutter and your eyes close against your will.

sukuna holds your limp body in his arms protectively with calculated gentleness as if a slight jerk would hurt you. well, in your state, it would.

upon watching you get torn apart, sukuna realises he isn't as heartless as he deemed himself. it drives him angry. how could a being as weak as you would have the capability to move him? how could you inflict pain onto him when you're the one who's at his mercy? he scoffs at how ridiculous it is all.

but when his eyes land on you– your fragile body almost lifeless and bleeding, his only thought was towards your safety and not towards devouring you, albeit the sweet scent of your blood tempting him and calling out to him to drink it.

he stares at his hands tainted with the pretty crimson colour, glistening in the sun but it pales in comparison to the way your eyes were shut as if you were only asleep. sukuna sighs, alright then.

his reversed cursed technique flows through his body into your own, healing the deep tears and cuts. he only hopes you aren't too angry at him for waiting that long to step in.

your staggered breathing was replaced with slow even ones and your wounds disappeared as if they had never been there in the first place. a peaceful expression forms on your face and all of sukuna's eyes soften.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

the next time you awaken you find yourself in the comfort of your own room making you doubt if everything that happened was a vivid dream. and you would have believed that doubt if not for the person sitting in the corner of your room, his four arms folded into each other.

you flinch upon seeing him and sit straight up, a groan escapes you involuntarily from your sore body.

“you're awake, brat” his deep voice sends shivers down your spine.

you nod slightly, your eyes on anything besides him.

“how are you feeling?” this makes you jolt your head towards him because did he just ask about your well being? you would say you misheard but the frown and distaste on his face only confirms that he was, in fact, concerned about your condition somehow.

“im feeling alright” you say quietly, still a bit afraid of the man sitting in your room who could easily overpower you if he wanted.

“i should hope so. your weak body didn't take much to heal as easily injurable as it is” he sneers from the shadows that enveloped him.

“so it wasn't a dream?” your voice shook a little which doesn't go unnoticed.

“no. i have taken care of the matter. you may rest at ease” he rises to his feet, he looks way too big to feel safe around. you hug your blankets a little tighter. wait, when did you even have that many?

“do not fear. i do not intend to harm you.” two out of four eyes narrow at you and how scared of him you looked. sukuna doesn't like how that bothers him.

“how do i know that?” your eyes didn't meet him, rightfully so, if it was anyone else who questioned him, sukuna would waste no second getting rid of them altogether.

“it is i.” a viable answer – one that doesn't need any further explaination. sukuna maybe a merciless hard hearted being but he's also a man of his words. anyone who knows him would be aware of this fact.

“but i don't know you.”

he supposes you're right. in a way, nobody knows him. this was also why he remained so strong despite people and sorcerers alike sharpened themselves while fighting him. he did not have an opening to allow them to kill him.

“then you can start from this moment forward.”

“i don't want to.” for the first time, sukuna faces disappointment; but it's a different kind of disappointment. normally he would be discouraged at how nobody was able to stand a chance against him but now, he feels helpless. much like he was the prey and you're the predator.

“and your reason for that is?” ever so curious, he glowered at your body which had somehow become smaller amongst the sheets of blanket you're enveloped by.

“because then… then i will grow to understand you. if i do understand you then that would mean id find out you have a heart. someone with a heart would never… would never…” your voice trails away and you look horrified by the memories flooding your mind.

“so i don't want to know you.” you muster up enough courage to stare into his eyes, all of his eyes and sukuna can feel your soul tremble.

he only watched silently as you fidget under his watchful gaze. great. he's at a loss by someone who's terrified of him, how much more could you hit a blow to his pride.

without a word, he steps out of your room and he could hear you exhale. he huffs in annoyance at how tense you are in his presence. and your words. they might as well be your cursed technique attacking him with every enunciation that came from your mouth.

and they were working.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

the world was somehow shifting. you couldn't exactly pinpoint where or how but it was.

“master has assigned you a new room that would be more comfortable for your stay” uraume says, standing in front of you in a polite stance. “please allow me to guide you there.”

if this is his attempt to make you forget about all the destruction he caused, for whatever reason, it was futile. he was irredeemable.

your thoughts might have been apparant on your face because uraume continues, “master says he does not have an ulterior motive. he simply wants you to be comfortable.”

since when did that beast care about other people's comfort except for his own?

“fine then, show me” if he offered, then there's no problem in accepting. heck maybe you should be taking advantage of his hospitality and ask for whatever you desire. he has put you on death's row and wiped of everyone you knew after all.

you were led to a room that was closer to the main area of the palace, a stark contrast to the basement of the kitchen — where you started from.

pieces of beautiful art were decorating each corner, finest tapestry hanging from the walls, and the curtains? they were of the best material you had ever known. no doubt, this was a room that exceeded even your dreams.

uraume opened the closet revealing kimonos of various kinds, from silk to linen to satin— every kind was there. “i was not aware of your taste so i assorted various kinds.”

you were amazed at the room, the materials – everything but these measly riches don't bring lives back and the monster certainly wasn't capable of any empathy so the words saying he has no ulterior motive were nothing but empty to you.

“what? have i been promoted from prey to concubine now?” the word alone makes you sick to your stomach but it's the only explanation that makes sense.

“you are very wrong. master does not keep concubines. it is only an extension of his kindness.” you laugh, sukuna? kindness? please.

four eyes narrowed at your bitter laugh, sukuna stands in the doorway, each of his two arms folded in each other. he has lost count of how much disrespect he tolerates from you but strangely, it does not give him a drive to kill, only annoyance.

a brow raises when you turn around after being aware of his presence and your laugh, as mocking as it was, dropped into a frown.

seeing how speechless you are, he huffs. from out of nowhere, he conjures up a bow and an arrow to go along with it. sukuna moves stealthily, one step and he's already next to you.

the bow and arrow are shoved into your hands “i have heard you are exceptionally good with these” sukuna says, his voice was low and calculating – if you hadn't known better, you'd say it quivered a little.

he wasn't wrong though, you had to hone some sort of hunting skill for food. life wasn't kind and you learnt it the hard way. nevertheless you felt safer with some kind of weapon you were familiar with, even though they won't be of much help against a sorcerer.

“master’s very own bow and arrow” uraume interrupted, their face had an expression of shock you had never seen on them before. there was an engraving on them– the same mark that sukuna had on his body.

“why give me this?” you ask and receive no answer. not because sukuna doesn't want to answer you, he simply doesn't have a reason. he just wanted you to have it. it felt natural. he'll be damned before he ever admits that to you or even to himself.

“what if i use it on you?” you press on, clutching onto the wooden weapon tightly. “what if i wanted to fire this at you?”

“i would let you.”

it caught you by surprise. why? you want to ask but you also didn't want to hear his reason. you don't want to know him. the little barrier you had put between you both is the only thing giving you leverage against such a vicious being, you couldn't afford to have it break down.

taking a quick abrupt step back, you line the end of the arrow to the bowstring and pull on it with an expert ease, aiming it at sukuna. uraume was about to step in but sukuna waves them off. as if the most feared curse user couldn't defend himself.

he could already have you breathing your last breath in a mere second if he wanted to but of course, he doesn't. he just stands there unmoving. his lack of response to your threat made you all the more aggravated.

“aren't you going to stop me?”

“no. proceed with whatever you intend to do, i shall not stop you.” sukuna's folded arms fell to his sides, giving you an open target for his heart.

now you should be firing your arrow with no hesitation right? you have hunted down countless moving targets from as small as a bird to something as big as a deer.

and they were running while you manage to hit a bullseye – every single time. so now this unmoving big target within just a few meters would be a piece of cake. it's your chance to end the tyranny of his wicked rule and him altogether– a chance that had not been granted to anyone who stands against him.

but your hands wouldn't move. they wouldn't let go of the string to propel the arrow towards him. they were frozen in place. you would have doubted uraume’s technique being in play but no signs of ice crystals found themselves anywhere near.

sukuna waits and you wonder if he was ever this patient.

your hands tremble, slowly letting your form down. why couldn't you just do it?

“human–”

sukuna's words were cut short by a swift arrow flying towards him. he didn't make a move to avoid it.

your trembling hands were now perfectly stable holding the bow. your breathing was calm, collected even. if anyone were to see you now, they'd wonder who the beast is. empty eyes deadpan at your target.

sukuna stares back, his cheek bleeding from the graze of the arrow. unlike your soul-less face, a satisfactory smile creeps onto sukuna's. “you didn't miss, did you? you aimed here on purpose.” his hands caress the small wound in awe.

“next time i wont.”

“as i have said, i will not stop you.”

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

the new room was comfortable, all your needs were tended to and your conduct exceeded your desires. you were treated equal to a queen, if you knew how.

and uraume, sukuna's loyal servant, was now your own. they were still very distant though, not speaking more than they needed to. not like you really minded anyway.

uraume was there to observe. they were under strict orders to keep you safe and also report your daily status to sukuna. you weren't exactly aware of this part but there's no harm done so by logic, there wasn't a problem with it either.

sukuna finds the corner of his mouth twitch when uraume mentioned that you sang obnoxiously loud because you thought nobody was around. he'd have loved to hear that himself.

the amusing brief about you was however rudely interrupted by a strange person brave enough to march directly into the throne room unannounced.

“you're from the kamo clan aren't you? have you come to die a meaningful death?” sukuna's thirst for battle heightened upon seeing a sorcerer from one of the three main clans in jujutsu. maybe finally, he can have a strong opponent and enjoy the fight without having it end too early.

but the man only chuckles “no, i have come here to negotiate with the almighty king of curses himself”

sukuna frowns, now staring at him unamused “you do not have anything worth a value to me. fight or die a pathetic death.”

“i will do neither of those.” noritoshi kamo, stands face to face with sukuna without a hint of fear in his eyes and that makes sukuna curious. just what kind of offer does he have to be so bold?

“prove that you are worth my time you filthy scum” sukuna glowers at the man, getting more and more impatient by the second.

“how about that prey? how is your little prey doing?” kamo smirks and it's enough to tempt sukuna to cut through his skull but no, he refrains because anything that involves you, sukuna doesn't take it lightly.

“speak up or i’ll have you slashed.” sukuna remarks impatiently.

“it would be a shame to have her taken away from you isn't it?” the old man sneers.

the next thing he knows is his ragged breath and a sharp pain across his chest, kamo falls to his knees. sukuna’s technique had manifested a cut through his chest, although not deep enough to end him. with blood oozing out of the fresh cut and his mouth, he still has the courage to glare at the four eyed creature.

“you must not value your life” sukuna says nonchalantly, leaning against one of his hand, the grotesque sight was nothing new to him at all.

“your reign is coming to an end isn't it?” kamo laughs, although it comes out through splutters of blood. “no matter how powerful you are, you are not immortal sukuna, you still won't defeat death!”

as if sukuna is one to fear death. sukuna only sighs, revelling in the bloodied state of his intimidator.

“and your little human toy won't either” that earns a reaction from him. sukuna's eyes narrow at the pitiful man fighting for his life.

“what are you suggesting?”

“what if i tell you– that there is a way for you to be immortal? and that it's possible to find her in every lifetime?”

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

everyone who knows sukuna knows that he does not get hurt. or yet, there's nobody who's strong enough to hurt him. generation upon generation, sorcerers have teamed up to get rid of him but with no luck. not even one of them could land a hit on the ferocious being.

all the more reason for you to be speechless when he returns with a huge hole in his stomach, bleeding continuously.

it was during your stroll that you saw him staggering over to his room.

okay maybe that was a lie. maybe you'd heard that a very prominent sorcerer in the jujutsu society had challenged him. you didn't know much about that world but it was enough to worry you, even if sukuna was undefeated.

so maybe that worry brings you into a situation where he arrived just while you were taking a stroll in the garden. you definitely didn't purposely take longer to watch the birds fly back to their nest in hopes of making sure sukuna returns. definitely not.

that's also NOT why you're knocking on his door boldly.

the door opens, revealing a confused sukuna. your eyes dart down to his injury but it seems the blood had stopped, still looking nasty regardless.

you wince just by looking at it but sukuna interrupts your unwarranted examination. “eyes here human. what do you want?”

for someone who's supposed to be prey, you're bold because in the next moment, you find yourself pushing through the door and asking him to sit down.

yes. you— a mere human, barged through his room and asked him to sit. when he doesn't comply, you walk up to him, pulling on one of his hands, guiding him towards his chair and sat him down. and strangely, no hint of protest came from him – not even a grunt or a growl.

with familiar ease, you call in uraume and ask for an emergency kit. they hesitate but comply regardless.

your expert hands slowly disinfect the wound and start stitching it up, not even sparing a glance at the man who just watches you and lets you do whatever you want to him.

“where have you garnered skills to do this?” sukuna asks mid stitch and it's only then that you realised he hasn't done so much as flinch. you could imagine how painful it would've been for a normal human but apparently this counts for nothing to him.

“when you're desperate enough, you just know” the last string goes through his flesh and you tie a knot, snapping the thread off. your movements slow when you realise you're touching him– skin and all, with your own.

your eyes lock when you search for his and they stare back. this time, you don't see a vicious brute but in its place, you see the eyes of a man. and not just any man, if you allowed your thoughts to wander you'd say it was the same look of a man capable of love.

but you don't – you look away. and sukuna's could feel a slight pull in his chest.

“human.”

“i have a name”

“human.”

the disregard for your name only makes you roll your eyes in annoyance. the man only chuckles at the sight.

“you do realise i can heal myself?”

a pause. of course how could you forget? reversed cursed technique they call it? all these magical powers granted to them made no sense to you at all. you only stare at the wall dumbfounded as sukuna downright laughs at your humiliated expression.

“why didn't you stop me then?” your grumble only amuses him further.

“perhaps because i wanted you to acknowledge how foolish you are?” his tone was teasing and not a hint of malicious intent was within it. a smile creeps on your lips and sukuna could swear his heart rate accelerated.

“i could show it to you if you're curious” your wide eyes give him all the confirmation he needed. sukuna rises on his feet, the prior horrid injury long forgotten.

“you could… take off the bandages. if they aren't effective anyway since you can heal” you shrug, trying to brush off your wholly service that was in fact not required in the first place.

“i rather they stay.” his hands graze them gently and you could swear he smiled at the pitiful mounts of cotton plastered on his abdomen.

“come. allow me to show you what im capable of.” he offers you a hand, out of the many he has and his shoulder slumps in relief when you take it without any protest.

he takes you outside and leads you towards your favourite spot in the garden. you don't let yourself wonder if it's a coincidence or not.

“see that fruit?” he gestures to a ripe apple hanging on its tree – super red and just the perfect size.

“yeah want about it?” you tilt your head towards him curiously making sukuna more enthusiastic to show you his perfectly crafted technique.

an invisible slash cuts the single fruit out of the tree, making it fall. it was barely noticeable and you'd think it fell on its own if not for the perfect slices it has all while it landed in the palm of your hands.

your wide eyed gaze only delights the man responsible for it. you take one slice off and admire the precision “you did this?? no way!”

sukuna heaves his chest proudly. strangely, your adulation to his antic gives him so much more satisfaction than wiping out an entire village.

“wait till you see this” sukuna takes a step back, his lips quirking up into a tight smirk upon seeing your expectant expression.

he places his hands together and gestures up signs that were not familiar to you. “fuga « open »” his low voice chants while fire manifests into the palm of his hands. he moulds the flames skillfully as it takes the shape of an arrow – a fire arrow.

and you're left with your mouth agape, he was truly terrifying. such bright flames don't even burn him but instead falls into his command.

sukuna likes the way you stare at him in wonder and was tempted to tell you that he created this very technique in honour of you and your bold decision in grazing his cheek with your arrow but for now, he holds his tongue and lets you admire as long as you want.

when the flames burn away, you're still in a haze— staring at the man in front of you with diluted pupils: one might think you're in love.

as sukuna focuses his eyes into your own, he's certain he could see into your soul which grows a little more familiar to him everytime he sees you. no it's not how he feels the familiar terror in someone's soul when they tremble in fear of him just as he was about to take their life.

it's not the same shudder of fear he used to feel when he's around you. this time, it's inviting. he feels he could be stripped of his technique and just be a normal being if it meant he could submerge himself in it.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

sukuna used to anticipate how he would die. he wanted to meet someone who would be strong enough to give him a formidable death fit for the most evil being to tread the world. news of fresh generation of strong sorcerers would excite him.

but the moment he knew he was entranced by you, that prior excitement was now replaced by fear. not fear for his death but rather, for yours. if anything were to happen to him, who would protect you?

it doesn't help how his enemies were catching hints on his possible weakness now. it all started with that damn bastard from the kamo clan, whom sukuna swears to kill. him and everybody else that could pose as a threat to you, he swears he will kill them all.

a little part of him also starts to fear for his own end. he fears that no matter how long he lives, he might think he doesn't have enough time with you. how could he when you're here, showing the sides or the world he never knew existed? the same world you weaved with every gentle word you say, no matter how insignificant.

sukuna can't get enough of the small smiles that were appearing more frequently when he reaches out to hold your tiny hand in his big ones.

he can't get enough of your soft snores when you're asleep in his chest– no more nightmares haunting your sleep because as long as he's around, any curse would have to fight him to get to you. no curse was bold enough to do so.

and mostly, he can't get enough of your small gentle strokes across his face. your touch was feather light and curious but so so loving that even when your hands were about to be pulled away, his own grabs them and makes them stay.

sukuna has nothing at all to base it off of, but if he had to name what he's feeling right now, it would be along the lines of complete devotion to you – in other words, he suspects it's the feeling these weak humans and yozoru keep preaching about: love.

and he's not denying it– not to himself at least or he can't. during his recent battles, he observes himself ending it as quick as possible.

instead of luxuriating in the thrill of battle, he finds himself rushing to kill his opponent – to end it as quick as it was humanely possible because every second he spends away from you is a second wasted.

he was becoming more precise and ruthless now that he has something to protect.

that's why even when you ask about his murder streak and if he could lessen it, he just ruffles your hair and tells you not to worry.

any sorcerer who has gotten close enough to land their sights on you were brutally tortured until they give up on their life altogether.

however, life can be funny at times. his own fear for your well being is possibly responsible for the curse that now latches onto you, consuming and draining the life out of you and sukuna's forced to watch as you slowly became a husk of who you used to be. so really, it's not funny at all.

he feels helpless and he is. none of the cursed techniques he has could exorcise the curse blooming inside you and spreading through your veins.

he has been warned before and he didn't care. he never fathomed to ever find someone to love so he traded his soul for his fervent reign – a binding vow: any being whose soul remotely gets near his own would ruin itself without any means for its resurrection.

another condition of the vow was for him to forget about it only after it was too late. at the time the vow was made, sukuna had thought, no, he'd known he lucked out by a power at the price of such a feeble condition but now… now he knows how gut wrenchingly wrong he was.

sukuna slumps in defeat at the sight of your weak body fighting itself. all his four hands encased one of yours as he listens to your staggering breaths that slowly becomes more faint than the last.

for the first time, no matter how tainted his hands were of from the numerous people he murdered in cold blood, sukuna finds himself praying; not for salvation or forgiveness but for your suffering to be placed onto him instead.

he has just found happiness with you, and in you, had just started to learn how to love someone so much that all his wicked ways were something he wished he never did. he had been stupid and arrogant – too arrogant. he was sure the heaven and whole generations of people he killed were now laughing at him drowning in his own misery. how the tables have turned on him and humbled him.

“kuna..” your barely audible voice mades him lean closer to your face, one of his large hands coming up to caress your face delicately.

“human. save your energy” sukuna scolds but his tone was not demanding by any means. it was desperate, desperate for just one more second of you.

a faint smile ghosts your almost now deathly pale face “it's not your fault.” you manage to cough out through staggering breaths.

sukuna's world might as well stop. it was his fault, everything was his fault. from the moment he caught a whiff of your sweet sweet blood to when he looked at you as nothing but prey to the moment when you became the sole reason for his existence, it was all his doing. he has taken you and tangled you amidst the string of despair.

his head shakes in denial, no words coming out of both his two mouths. so much to say, so many ways to say it but nothing.

but you know, the four pupils staring at you take the form of hearts, and that tells you everything. it could be just an illusion you'd heard people speak of on the verge of death but it's enough for you.

your sweet blood slowly looses its essence as you close your eyes, the last light inside you leisurely fading away.

“oi human” sukuna calls but there was no response.

“answer me” a plea.

still no answer as your hand slowly goes limp in his own. there was silence and nothing. so much of nothing that was unfamiliar in the otherwise air of curiousity that always surrounded you.

“human.” sukuna's voice wavers as his hands come to cup your too peaceful face. he searches for any signs of life but he finds none. before he knew it, a drop of water landed on your clueless yet beautiful features, then another and another.

the monster was crying. not just crying – he wept.

his entire body shakes as he lets out his pain, holding onto you desperately as if that would bring you back.

“human” he dries away his own tears on your face and brushes away the hair that dared hide even a portion of it.

“you're not a curse. you have never been. you were my blessing, my salvation. you are the best thing that have ever happened to me. you cleared my skies and showed me how it was to love… and be loved.”

sukuna trembled in grief at your loss. the king of curses– reduced to a man in love.

perhaps he wasn't the cannibal here. perhaps you were the one who slowly teared him apart and consumed his very being– merging yourself into his core without him even realising it.

but one thing he knows for sure is that if he were to do it again, he'd let himself be devoured entirely by you. over and over again. to be loved is to be consumed and he's offering himself to you, flesh and bones on a silver platter.

“until next time, my love.” he leans in and places a fragile kiss onto your forehead and that's the first and last time he has a taste of you.

with the last drop of your blood running dry and the absence of the warmth that made you, you; sukuna finds his answer – the reason why your blood tasted so sweet was because he was made to crave it. something he could quench his thirst with but never getting the chance to do so; a punishment perfectly fit for him.

“your deal. i shall agree to it on a condition” sukuna glowers at kamo who only smirks with an ‘i told you so’ written all over his face. sukuna would have slashed him to bits if it weren't for the agreement he agreed to take up on.

“i shall trade my soul to become a curse only if i get reincarnated exactly a thousand years from now” sukuna proposes, no, commands. it is said that a soul is reincarnated only once every thousand years and he wants to make sure he finds you in the next lifetime. maybe then, he'll have enough time with you and if he's lucky enough, be able to love you without bounds.

“that could be arranged” kamo quirks his head in a way sukuna despises. “but she'll have no memory of you. you're proceeding with this knowledge, yes?”

sukuna only narrows his eyes and ignores his question “that is not all. erase her existence from the minds of everyone besides me. generations hence, no one shall know who she is. her name shall be removed from every mouth that speaks of my reign.”

kamo smiles lazily “your soul is not worth that much sukuna”. the man strolls freely in the room, not minding the looming presence of the king of curses. “however, a binding vow could be arranged.”

great. another binding vow. but if that means he'll meet you in a thousand years time, he'll vow as many times as required.

“the grounds of the vow is as follows: you shall be reincarnated only if there appears a vessel suitable to withstand you.” kamo proposes. “your fingers will be cut and hidden in vast areas across the world and you shall only succeed in full reincarnation if you find them and consume them, all while being suppressed by the vessel.”

sukuna frowns and kamo only laughs “do you agree to the vow knowing all the risk it carries?”

conditions and regulations were a pain but nothing could stop a man desperate enough to give up his soul twice. “very well” sukuna agrees.

and that is how the heian era and sukuna's legacy came to an end; sealing himself – and the memories of you only he carries with him – into his twenty fingers, each of which turned into cursed objects scattered far and wide like pieces of puzzle waiting until the time comes for it to fit itself together again.

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o-sunny-day · 8 months ago

Text

oh….. the THINGS i would give for a @forgettable-au movie……..

gang- okay…

The vision of Papyrus and Gaster at Wingdings’ funeral…. was so vivid in my head. And now its going to be there forever. and i have 0 complaints.

Dunno if any of you have played Omori, but SPOILERS!

the context to this is kinda like the Blackspace segment. Papyrus is in his head sorting out the shit he needs to sort out through metaphors n such. But Gaster is also there because he can do that because theyre the same person (IT MAKES SENSE)

I imagine that whole thing happens right after Papyrus regains all his wingdings memories like he gets knocked out or something- IM MAKING A LOT OF ASSUMPTIONS HERE LIKE HE MIGHT NOT EVEN REMEMBER, EVER!!! I REALLY HOPE HE DOES!!! BUT!!!

Just let me have my silly fanfics…

After a lot of fighting and agony over the question of WHO IS PAPYRUS? ESPECIALLY AFTER HE’S LEARNED TOO MUCH?

it ends with a somber scene of putting Wingdings to rest, letting his 2 halves live their own lives.

Papyrus asks “Why did you do this?” as in… Why did you bring me here? and why did you do what you did? throwing yourself into the void?

Gaster has the same answer for both of those questions

Thats my theory, I think a lot of Gaster/Wingdings’ ambition, in game and in comic, is just curiosity

TIME FOR SOME FUN LITTLE EASTER EGGS!!!

In the first frame, theres a raindrop in front of Papyrus’ eye socket, meant to allude to Wingdings’ eye lights.

Also the field is filled with Echo and Golden flowers. Echo represents Wingdings, and Golden represents Papyrus. Gaster is just Gaster, don’t worry about him

I also had fun making the save point star look sorta like a cross from the distance…cause yknow…heaven….TEEHEE

I got emotional putting “dearest brother” on the grave cause I couldnt put any more stuff like “closest friend” or “dear son”….Sans was kinda all he had…

and lastly heres some bonus behind the scenes stuff because I have enough room for it

some sketches, and a speedpaint with the best instrumental song ever made from the best liveaction movie ever made that has absolutely nothing to do with the forgettable au (Little Miss Sunshine - “THE WINNER IS”)

Highly recommend, 100/10, makes me UGLY SOB, think the undertale gang would like it (especially Papyrus and Undyne)

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little-diable · 2 years ago

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Hold me close - Prof!Carlisle Cullen (smut)

I know this isn't what you requested @emberfrostlovesloki – but I hope you still enjoy it! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Let's be honest, this is pure pwp, prof!Carlisle worries about the reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, prof x student, reader is legal ofc, age gap

Pairing: Prof!Carlisle x fem!student!reader (1.8k words)

The room was filled with students, a buzzing atmosphere that trapped them, forcing anticipation to flush through their systems. Every Thursday morning they found themselves in this room, eyes glued to the professor most of them fawned over, begging for a few seconds of his attention.

Professor Cullen had joined the university a few semesters ago, instantly becoming the students favourite professor. He had something to him that drew the students to him, lured closer by the man with golden eyes and frame so tall, they wondered how it must feel to have him towering over them. And trapped in the middle of it all was (y/n), one of the few students the professor called by her first name.

She couldn’t remember how it had all started, longing glances, inside jokes, cold touches. Nothing inappropriate had ever happened between them, Carlisle Cullen wasn’t one to cross lines that could end his career and ruin her future. And yet there was something between them that was anything but professional, an ongoing back and forth neither of them wanted to put an end to.

“(Y/n)?” His voice cut through the sounds the crowd of students produced as they left the class, already excited for next week. Their eyes met, drawn to one another like moths to flames, silently communicating. He watched her move closer, trembling feet struggling to support her frame, hand darting out to grasp the edge of the table he was leaning against. “Are you alright?”

Concern dripped from the professor’s voice, worried eyes wandering over her features, trying to stop his hand from reaching out to touch her. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, trying to find her voice, but the room began to close in on her, unable to speak up as her vision grew blurry, head pounding.

“Come, let’s get you somewhere quieter.” This time he didn’t manage to stop himself from touching her, hand placed on the small of her back as he guided (y/n) out of the room. Neither of them spared the curious eyes of the other students any of their attention, while Carlisle found himself worrying about (y/n), her mind slowly grew clearer once again, hyperfocusing on his touch. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Just water, please.” A hum left the professor as (y/n) sank down on the comfortable couch placed in Professor Cullen’s office, the room she had been in numerous times before. He moved quickly, placing the glass of water down for her before he sat down next to (y/n), eyes not leaving her features once. “I think I simply forgot to drink enough, I’ll be fine.”

“Mhm, you need to take better care of yourself, love.” The word left his lips before his mind could pick up on the things his mouth was doing, hearing her heartbeat picking up its beat. Even though he’d never admit it out loud, Carlisle loved the way her body was reacting to the things he said, the things he did, wondering how it must feel to have her pressed against him, fully focusing on every little reaction. “I can’t have my best student passing out, can I?”

“Your best? I doubt that.” (Y/n) didn’t dare meet his eyes, breath stuck in her chest as his hand found her chin, forcing her to look at him. For a few seconds neither of them spoke, while her blood began to sing in her ears, his eyes flickered down to her lips, allowing him to focus on the thoughts he had tried to drown out ever since meeting her. She felt his thumb on her trembling lower lip, carefully stroking the soft skin as a gasp left her, unable to stop the sound from leaving her.

Before either one of them could move, the sound of his alarm going off ripped them apart. Carlisle rose to his feet with a sigh, reaching for his phone to silence it once again. “I’ll have to leave now for my shift at the hospital. Do me a favour and text me tonight, just a small update on how you are feeling.”

……

Ever since (y/n) had left Professor Cullen’s office, she had wondered if their moments together had truly played out like that or if her confused mind was playing a trick on her. Whatever it was, she couldn’t help but be grateful for it, clinging to the memories playing in her mind over and over again.

She wondered how long she should wait to text him, but ever since 8pm had rolled around, she had been sitting on her bed, eyes focused on her phone. Again and again she tried to type out her message to her professor, wondering what and how she should update him. Her fingers trembled at the mere thought of her professor, mind filled with sinful images she found herself longing for whenever she got time to think.

Before she could send her text the professor had taken it upon himself to reach out, a simple “How are you doing, (y/n)? Do you need something?”. Heat rose in her body at the sweet message, biting her lip to stop her smile from growing even wider. With her heart pounding in her chest she typed her reply, fuelled by her curiosity and excitement.

“I am alright, still a bit shaky, but no longer close to passing out. How was your shift?” Her phone was tossed away from her the second she had sent the text, insides churning in excitement, silently praying to whoever was listening that he’d fuel a conversation.

It didn’t take him long to get back, but not in the form of another text, forcing (y/n) to reach for her buzzing phone as he called her. A deep exhale of warm air left her before she picked up the call, murmuring a soft “Hello?”.

“I don’t like that you’re still feeling unwell, if it’s alright with you I’d like to check on you.” She was glad that the professor couldn’t see her, pupils growing wide as her lips formed another grin.

“I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do, I’m okay, promise.” (Y/n) could imagine him staring down on her, shaking his head with a displeased sigh leaving him, not trusting the young woman.

“Nonsense, text me your address, I’ll be there in a few.”

……

If somebody would have told her back then that within the next hour she’d end up in his lap, arms wrapped around his cold neck, lips locked with his, she probably would have broken out in laughter, doubting that he’d ever give into their game. And yet, here she found herself, straddling the man’s lap, fingers tangled in his golden hair.

Carlisle’s cold hands moved up and down her back, leaving sparks to shoot down her spine. She kept on trembling, though no longer because of her exhausted body, but because of the things the man made her feel. He kissed her as if he was in search of her soul, chaining her to him with a few simple touches that left her burning from inside out.

“You can always tell me to stop, love.” She couldn’t help but swoon at the care dripping from his words, holding her close with warm eyes getting lost in hers. (Y/n) cupped his cold cheek, pressing another kiss against his lips before a quiet “Don’t ever stop, please” left her.

For a few seconds he stared at her before he flipped her onto her back, pressed against her couch with her legs wrapped around his waist. Her gasps left him smirking in pride, lips kissing their way down her throat, allowing her shaking fingers to unbutton the black dress shirt he was wearing. Both were fueled by their desire, unable to ponder on the question whether what they were doing was right or wrong, needing to feel one another.

“My pretty girl, such a pretty sight. I want to take my time with you, but I can’t promise that I’ll be gentle.” The words left her moaning, eyes threatening to roll back into her head as her teeth left marks on her lower lip.

“Don’t be gentle, mark me up, please. Fuck me, professor.” (Y/n) whimpered the words, coaxing a deep grown from the man as he rose from his position. Without breaking eye contact both got rid of their clothes, bare bodies searching for one another’s closeness. Their lips met once again as he sneaked a hand between their bodies, making moans claw through (y/n). His cold fingers felt all too good against her pulsing bundle, the perfect sensation to push her closer and closer to the edge, once again begging him to fuck her.

Carlisle was rough with her, forcing his cock into her tightness without another warning, but she was aching for him, desperate for him, ready to give him whatever he wanted from her. The tall man didn’t hold back as he fucked her on her couch, forcing her further into the fabric with his eyes growing darker and darker.

“Jesus, you feel so good, fuck.” (Y/n) kept praising the man, eyes squeezed shut, desperate to focus on the feeling that felt so unfamiliar she wondered if she had ever been touched before. Carlisle chased her lips, hungrily kissing the moaning woman as he fucked her even faster, leaving marks that would turn into bruises the next few days. Marks she’d forever cherish, smiling at the memories she clung to.

Curses left the two as she clenched around him, unable to stop herself from cumming with his name leaving her, nails scratching at his skin. It took him a few more moments to let go, holding onto her with his dark eyes taking in every inch of her body. The groan leaving Carlisle as he came made (y/n) shudder, studying him with awe laced in her gaze.

“Fuck, that was-” she struggled to find any words as he gave into a laugh rumbling through him, kissing (y/n) once again before he pulled out of her.

“It was. We can’t go back now, I hope you know that.” (Y/n) pulled him down once again, mumbling a “As if I’d ever want to go back” against his lips.

#Carlisle Cullen smut #Carlisle Cullen imagine #twilight smut #Carlisle Cullen x reader

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vinnyvamppp · 3 months ago

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may i perchance request rex x fem!reader x eve? like set s1 where instead of cheating, rex learns to COMMUNICATE with eve and they start picking up girls together #couplegoals

Two's Company, Three's Dangerous

Note: I love this??? Its healing the annoyance I felt for Rex in season one. This is my canon now. (Mark in the bg LMFAOOO)

Warnings: Suggestive themes & flirtation, Strong language, Corny Dialogue (I cackled), Mild Sexual Tension, Changes For Plot Convenience, Threesome dynamic, etc.

Synopsis: Three’s not a crowd—it’s foreplay. When Rex and Eve decide to start pulling girls together, they don’t expect you to walk in and flip the game on its head. Now you're all tangled in teasing, tension, and a whole lot of trouble they can't stop chasing.

Rex Splode x Atom Eve x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,196

It starts the same way most of Rex’s ideas do: loud, impulsive, and almost immediately a bad idea. “Look, all I’m saying is—it’s not cheating if we’re both in on it.” Rex lounges on Eve’s couch, tossing popcorn into his mouth like he’s solving world peace instead of pitching a threesome. “You’ve gotta admit, you miss flirting.” She shoots him a look. “I miss the fire.” That makes him pause. “I miss feeling like I was… chasing something. Not just bad guys, but possibility. Something new.” She shifts slightly. “Now we suit up, save the world, come home. Lather, rinse, repeat. And I love you, but…” He quirks a brow. “You’re bored.” “I’m craving something,” she admits. “And I don’t know what it is, but it’s not this.” Rex sits up, tossing the remote aside. “So let’s find it. Or her. Whatever the hell you’re talking about, we’ll chase it together.” She blinks. “You’re okay with that?” “Eve.” He gives a crooked grin, head tilting. “You think I’d turn down the chance to pick up girls with you? This could be the best idea I’ve ever had.” She narrows her eyes. “Your best idea was a flamethrower guitar.” “Exactly.” He claps his hands. “We’re overdue for something fuckin’ unhinged.” Three bars and a rooftop mixer later, Eve is regretting everything. Everyone they meet is either desperate, oblivious, or already half in love with Rex before they realize Eve is part of the package and not just a bystander. He’s charming, yeah, but in that loud, golden-retriever-who-sells-vape-pens way. And Eve, despite herself, tries. She leans in. She smiles. She even lets Rex do that thing where he says they’re “taking applications.” Nothing. And then you show up.

They stared, completely enamored. You exuded a boisterous confidence that demanded attention. The smooth sheen of your skin glistened under the dim lights, while your hips swayed slightly with allure. Your hair framed your delicate features, and the sound of your heels clicked loudly against the bar floor as their vision tunneled. The most striking detail, however, came from your eyes. Though your appearance was delicate—almost cute—the intense glare held within them was distinctly predatory. You don’t look at them right away. You order your drink, slow and unhurried, like you’ve done this before—like you enjoy making people wait. You don’t need to scan the room to know you’re being watched. Until your gaze drags over Rex first, unimpressed, then lingers on Eve for a little too long. You can feel the energy shift, like a current humming between you three. Rex elbows Eve lightly. “Holy, shit. Target acquired. Did you see that?” Eve snorts into her drink. “You’re imagining things.” “Nah, nah—don’t gaslight me, Eve. That was a full-body scan. I’ve watched less intense security checks at the airport.” “She’s gonna eat you alive,” Eve murmurs, lips curving. “That’s half the fun.” You finally turn, catching their eyes in one lazy glance. You take in the matching drinks, the too-casual spacing between them, and the subtle lean of Eve’s leg angled toward Rex’s. The way they’re utterly entangled in one another yet insistent with their gaze.

It starts small. A glance that lingers too long. A hand reaching for a drink at the same time, knuckles brushing, and neither of you moving away. Eve’s smile grows when you mirror the way she tips her glass, when your tongue flicks out to taste the rim like hers just did. Rex catches it, that silent mimicry, and his gaze drags across both of you—lazy, appraising, and somewhat hungry. No one says anything, but the air feels heavier with each breath. You cross your legs; Eve mirrors you.

Rex licks his lips. You’re not touching, not yet, but tension is definitely pressing in between the silence and the smirks. Rex’s hand slides lazily across the back of Eve’s chair, fingers brushing her bare shoulder like he’s just resting them there, but there’s nothing casual about the way she shifts into the contact. It was a performance. Despite their prior arguing, the two shared heated kisses, all to entice.

Your voice cuts through the teasing. “So,” you say, smiling slowly to yourself, “you two scouting or just bored?” Rex grins like he’s been caught red-handed. “Depends. You offering a distraction?” “I’m offering nothing,” you reply, sipping your drink. “But I am very curious.” Eve watches you now, like really watches. The way your confidence settles around you like a silk robe. The way your eyes flicker, assessing and amused. You’re dangerous in a way that doesn’t need powers. “What are you curious about?” she asks. You lean in slightly as if sharing a secret. “You two always argue like a divorced couple, or am I just lucky tonight?” “Oh, fuck you—“ Rex sputters. Eve just laughs—low and unexpected. It startles her, that you got under her skin so fast. That she wants to hear more. “You’re quick,” she says. “And you’re not subtle,” you reply, tapping her glass. “Next time you flirt, try not to stare at my mouth the whole time.” Rex whistles. “Okay. Damn.”

Eve just blinks. Slowly. Then exhales, smiling like you’re a puzzle she’s already halfway solved. “What’s your name?”

You tell her. Rex repeats it under his breath like a prayer. “Goddamn. Even the name’s hot.” You toss him a look. “Careful, I bite.” He grins. “Yeah, well, I bark, whimper, and fuck. Match made in heaven, right?” Eve sighs into her cocktail. “Please stop talking.” You slide off the stool, slow and deliberate. “I’m not a prize,” you say. “But I might be worth the chase. So, earn it.” You lean in, pressing a kiss to Rex’s cheek—mock-sweet, just enough to short-circuit him while your fingers drag slowly down Eve’s wrist, leaving a shiver in their wake. Both of them wear matching smirks, the kind that try too hard to cover how rattled they are. Without waiting for a word, you turn on your heel and strut toward the exit, leaving heat in your wake and satisfaction in your step. You’ve had your fun. For now.

Rex insisted on a steakhouse. Eve tried to veto it. You suggested sushi just to see who’d squirm harder. In the end, you’re all at a loud fusion place with flashing neon and absolutely no privacy. Perfect. “So,” you say, picking at an appetizer with elegant fingers. “What’s your strategy? Good cop, bad cop? Hot mess and stone-cold killer?” Eve smirks. “I’m not cold.” “You’re ice in heels,” you counter, and she looks… pleased? Rex coughs. “And I’m the hot mess?” “You’re wearing sunglasses indoors.” “I’m mysterious.” “You’re hungover.” You’re winning. Every line lands. Every glance makes Rex stammer or Eve flush. You lean forward, drink in hand, and say things with a smile that could kill. You never touch them, but the way you look at them? It’s almost worse. Eve watches you, not even pretending to hide it anymore. She likes the control you have. Likes the way you disarm her without even trying. She finds herself mimicking your posture, drinking when you drink. She’s leaning too close. And for once? She doesn’t care. Rex, on the other hand, is falling apart. “I don’t get it,” he mutters. “You’ve roasted me for two hours straight, and I still want you to like me.” “I do like you,” you say sweetly. “I just like watching you sweat more.” Eve hides her laugh in a sip of water. As the night winds down, Rex finally blurts, “So… do we get a second date?” You lean back, fingers tapping your glass. “You haven’t earned it yet.” He groans. “But,” you add, sliding your phone across the table, “you could try again.” You stand, this time with intent. Eve’s eyes follow every move. You brush past her chair, fingertips grazing her shoulder—not enough to be a promise. Just enough to be a reminder. Then you're gone. Again. And they are left there, dazed and enchanted. Rex slumps. “She’s gonna wreck us.” Eve smiles, slow and dangerous. “I hope so.” A/N: I cringed a few time too, I know, but to be cringe is to be free 🐎

#fanfic #invincible #x reader #fem reader #invincible show #atom eve x reader #atom eve #rex splode #rex sloan #invincible comic #invincible season 3 #samantha eve wilkins #rex sloan x reader #rex splode x reader #rex sloan fanfic #eve wilkins #samantha eve wilkins x reader

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magnagaruzenmon · 2 months ago

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Another Life: Aristocrat

So as you know I have two writing partners The expressive and fast talking Star Vader Dio, and the steadfast, hotheaded EmperorDinozenmon, both despite themselves love Twice however I don’t agree with their choices of biases.

For Dio despite all of his over the top flare and larger than life presentation he’s actually really quiet and selective about who he allows in his life and sees him. He swears by his love of Jihyo and if Burlesque is anything to go buy it’s very sincere but she doesn’t fit him at all. His homebody tendencies and unrelenting writing process leans way more towards Mina and her love of legos, violent media and zombies. So for his alternate story I’m doing an alternate version of Burlesque.

If there are two things Dio loves it combat, and thic thighs So I did both in my story for him.

Mina adored the brutal matches held at the Iron Chapel, especially when her favorite fighter took the stage. She only lamented one thing: the unfortunate timing of most of his fights.

Dio Castillo made quick work of his opponents during the day matches—a scheduling choice that would have been inconsequential, if not for one critical detail: Mina was a vampire. Sunlight was her mortal enemy. Yet, undeterred, she attended every one of his fights, a black parasol forever in hand, shielding herself as best she could. Thankfully, Dio’s bouts were often scheduled early in the morning, before the sun reached its cruel peak. Whether by design or accident, it was perfect for her—though Dio had no idea.

Today, Mina perched in the shadowed stands, her parasol angled just so, watching Dio square off against a flower mage named Tiberius. The mage was talented—nimble, strategic—but Dio had him outclassed. He was a tempest of blood and aura magic, utterly relentless.

With a fierce elegance, Dio unleashed torrents of combat magic, flooding the arena in waves of teal and crimson. He moved with a dancer’s grace, every strike fluid yet lethal, each step radiating a beautiful, poisonous aggression that made Mina’s cold heart flutter. She leaned forward, anticipation crackling through her veins.

“Yes, darling!” she cheered, unable to contain herself, as Dio crushed yet another challenger.

As the match ended, Dio expertly recalled the blood he had expended, pulling it back to himself like a conductor commanding a symphony. Mina’s hunger spiked, primal and feral. She watched, entranced, as Dio exited the arena, the crowd’s roar fading behind him. Something within her, long restrained, snapped.

She had to have him.

⸻

Dio was peeling off his gloves in the Iron Chapel’s modest locker room when the door creaked open. He turned, expecting a fellow fighter or a staff member. Instead, she stood there: a vision of quiet elegance, a storm of lustful hunger simmering just beneath her polished exterior.

“Um… can I help you?” Dio asked, caught off guard.

Mina, struggling to maintain composure, stammered at first before finding her voice. “You are incredible,” she said, stepping closer. Her voice was velvet over steel. “I’ve been watching fights at the Iron Chapel for some time now, and you… you’re by far the finest fighter they’ve ever produced. You entertain. You fight with grace. And you’re utterly relentless.”

Dio blinked, nodding slowly. “I appreciate that,” he said carefully. There was no fear in him exactly—he’d fought worse than an overeager fan—but it was rare to see a woman, especially one so aristocratic and self-possessed, so enraptured by the brutal spectacle of the Iron Chapel.

Before he could say more, Mina closed the distance between them, the air between them charged with something electric.

“Would you like to go out with me?” she asked, her voice low, almost predatory.

Dio blinked three times, stunned into silence. And then, almost without thinking—before he could tally the risks, before he could even consider the strangeness of it all—he said:

“Yes.”

Two days later, Dio found himself standing outside a Lego café, still trying to process the fact that this was where Mina had chosen for their date. It was… surprising. He had come to expect something far more formal, far more grand from someone as regal as her.

Mina, as always, looked breathtaking. She wore an elegant white blouse tucked into a flowing violet skirt, her black boots stretching all the way to her thighs. The outfit, despite its modesty, sent violent, electric currents of lust racing up and down Dio’s nervous system. When Mina caught the flash of hunger and desperation barely restrained behind his polite smile, her lips curled into a victorious, knowing smirk. She knew she had him.

They were quickly ushered inside and given a table tucked far away from the windows, deep in the darkest corner of the café. As they walked through the brightly colored maze of Lego sculptures and chattering patrons, Mina leaned in just slightly and murmured, her voice a velvet caress:

“You know, you don’t have to hide that you desire me.”

Dio nearly tripped over himself trying to respond, stammering something unintelligible. Mina only laughed, a gracious, musical sound, before they slid into their booth. She set her ornate parasol neatly beside her and settled across from him, a playful smile dancing on her lips.

A cheerful waiter appeared almost instantly, grinning as he greeted them.

“Will it be your usual today, Mrs. Myoui, or would you like to try something new?”

Mina pretended to ponder the menu for a moment, though she had already sampled every item at least twice. Eventually, she ordered the Blood Moon Coffee and a Raisin Cinnamon Roll.

Dio, after a moment’s indecision, ordered a hot chocolate and a breakfast platter. He turned to Mina with a sheepish grin.

“We can probably share,” he offered.

Mina’s crimson eyes gleamed as she regarded him, the hunger in them layered now with something softer, more amused.

“How considerate,” she purred.

A comfortable silence fell between them as their orders were prepared. They both pulled out the Lego sets they had brought along. Dio revealed two spaceship kits, setting them down with a boyish excitement, while Mina carefully opened a boxed Sakura Tree set she had been meaning to build for months.

She laughed softly as she watched Dio instantly lose himself in his project, brows furrowed in adorable concentration.

Dio looked up, catching her laughter.

“Something funny?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

Mina smiled warmly, resting her chin lightly on her hand.

“I just never expected you to be so… innocent outside the ring. I mean, you’re the Crimson King. The Dragon Emperor of Blood and Terror. And here you are, methodically reading Lego instructions like a kid on Christmas morning.”

Dio flushed slightly but smiled brightly.

“Well,” he teased, “you did invite me here.”

Mina laughed again, seeing beyond the blood and violence now. She saw the man—a layered, fascinating man—beneath the reputation.

“I see that,” she said, her voice softening. “So tell me, Dio… how does someone as talented as you end up a magus fighter in a brutal place like the Iron Chapel?”

For a moment, Dio hesitated, the pieces in his hands forgotten. Then, with a shrug, he spoke, as if finally letting go of a burden he’d carried too long.

“By happenstance,” he said simply. “My family are… religious anti-magic fundamentalists. When I started manifesting powers, they pushed me to suppress them. But the more I fought it, the stronger my magic became. It burrowed into me, made itself a part of who I am. Eventually, I couldn’t suppress it anymore… so I turned to fighting others instead.”

Mina’s smile faded slightly, sadness flickering in her crimson eyes. No wonder Dio fought like a man possessed. His magic wasn’t just power—it was survival.

“Your parents are fools,” she said, voice low but firm. “They should have fostered your gifts, not tried to destroy them with their antique fears.”

Dio chuckled darkly.

“The funny thing is… they’re all mages too,” he said. “They just can’t see their magic for what it is. They call it faith.”

Mina stared at him for a heartbeat, shocked. Then she laughed—a rich, delighted sound that warmed the space between them.

“You’re quite perceptive, Dio,” Mina said, a glimmer of admiration shining through her usually poised amusement.

Dio smiled at her, humble and bright. “Thank you.”

Just then, their drinks arrived—rich aromas curling into the air between them. Mina’s Blood Moon Coffee steamed gently in its obsidian cup, and Dio’s hot chocolate was topped with a perfect swirl of cream. As the clink of bricks resumed, models began to take shape on the table, and quick, stolen glances passed like flickers of candlelight between them.

Though they sat nestled in the darkest corner of the café, the warmth they shared seemed to light the space on its own.

At first, Mina had approached this outing as a playful indulgence—another chance to tease, seduce, and maintain the upper hand. But now, sitting across from Dio in this silly, serene little corner of the world, something unexpected crept in.

He radiated calm. Despite his violent profession, there was something soothing about Dio—like the stillness after a storm. Around him, Mina didn’t feel the need to posture, to control. She felt… safe.

Her gaze drifted to him again—his brow furrowed, tongue pressed slightly to the inside of his cheek in childlike concentration as he clicked pieces into place.

Something stirred in her chest. Foreign. Frightening. Wonderful.

And then, without warning, she giggled—a small, sweet sound that burst out of her like a secret, surprising even herself.

Dio looked up, startled but clearly pleased.

“You’re really amused by this, aren’t you?”

Startled by her slip, Mina straightened, her aristocratic instincts snapping into place.

“I merely find it… endearing,” she said coolly, her voice wrapped in velvet and frost.

But even she could hear the lie in it. Her own mask wavered.

Dio grinned knowingly, his tone gentle but teasing.

“You don’t have to act so fancy around me, you know.”

Mina froze. Her first instinct was to preserve her image—to brace and withdraw. But something inside her, something tender and aching, wanted to be seen.

So, with slow deliberation, she set down the delicate sakura branch she’d been building. Her elbows rested on the table. Her chin settled in her hands.

“I suppose I don’t,” she murmured.

Her lips curved into a smile—wide, warm, even gummy—and utterly breathtaking in its vulnerability.

Dio laughed softly, and Mina laughed with him—really laughed. Her voice sparkled, musical and unrestrained. The elegant mask she wore in every ballroom, every shadowed alley, fell away entirely. Her cheeks flushed a faint, rose-petal pink—a color she hadn’t worn in centuries.

“You’re… adorable,” Dio said, like the words slipped out before he could stop them.

Mina blinked, stunned for a moment. Then her head tilted like a curious cat’s.

“You think I’m adorable?”

Dio nodded with zero hesitation.

“When I first met you, you were this terrifying goddess. But right now? You’re just… a really pretty girl building a Lego tree.”

Mina covered her mouth as she laughed again, shoulders shaking with delight.

“I suppose that’s not the worst thing to be,” she said, voice gentler now, no longer sharpened by expectation or pride.

The next hour passed in an easy rhythm. They traded banter and bites of cinnamon roll, Lego bricks and small confessions. Mina teased Dio about his ships. Dio teased her when her sakura tree lost a few petals mid-build. The sweetness of it all chipped away at the centuries of solitude she’d wrapped around herself like a shroud.

At one point, Mina leaned over the table to point out a flaw in Dio’s build—only to suddenly realize how close they were. Their faces hovered inches apart. Breath mingled. Eyes locked.

For a moment, the clamor of the café faded. The world shrank to a heartbeat between them.

Mina recovered first, pulling back with an exaggerated grace. Her fingers delicately readjusted her collar, though the tips of her ears flushed bright pink.

“Careful, Dio,” she said with mock warning, her voice dipped in mischief. “Get too close, and I might not be able to control myself.”

Dio chuckled, warm and inviting.

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind.”

Her heart fluttered—an ancient organ responding to something that felt maddeningly new.

Their food arrived shortly after, and Dio, ever observant, carefully began to organize his plate. With surprising finesse, he selected cuts of meat and vegetables and arranged them onto a smaller plate—precise, intentional, and gently slid it toward Mina.

She blinked, confused.

“How did you know what I wanted?”

Dio shrugged, but his smile was sheepish. “Just a feeling.”

Mina stared at him, more astonished than ever. Somewhere between the battles, the bricks, and the banter, she had made up her mind.

“You’ve made me feel more alive in the last two hours,” she said quietly, “than I have in the last three hundred years.”

Her eyes gleamed, not with hunger, but clarity.

“Dio… will you be my lover? My one true paramour?”

Dio looked at her—truly looked—and without hesitation, replied:

“I’d love to.”

Mina’s eyes widened briefly, then softened. She leaned over the table, cradled his cheek, and kissed him.

The kiss was gentle at first—warm, exploratory, sincere. But almost instantly, something ignited inside her. The warmth bloomed into a heat she wasn’t ready for. Her instincts surged—predatory, ravenous, ancient. Her breath hitched. She broke the kiss before it could turn feral.

Dio, ever composed, blinked slowly and gave her a lopsided smile.

“You’re a really good kisser,” he said, cheeks slightly flushed.

Mina sat back, flustered and wide-eyed, fingers brushing her lips.

“You’re… dangerous,” she whispered with a breathless laugh.

Dio smirked. “Right back at you.”

As the two fell into a natural rhythm with each other dates became more frequent and costly. While Mina had paid for everything Dio felt like he should be doing more for her but couldn’t because he didn’t have 4,000 years of funds to work with until Dio suggested an idea.

It started with one quiet afternoon at Mina’s estate—a “low-effort” date, as Dio called it. No grand illusions, no ballgowns or combat gear. Just takeout, pajamas, and whatever movies Mina had stacked on the console she almost never used.

She hadn’t even owned proper pajamas until Dio asked what kind she liked.

Now, draped in soft lilac satin trimmed with lace, Mina sat curled into the corner of her velvet settee, her bare feet tucked beneath her as she watched Dio bumble around her kitchen like he’d lived there all his life. He wore a faded T-shirt with a cartoon dragon and loose flannel pants, and he looked devastatingly comfortable.

More than that—he looked happy.

“You make a disturbingly good cup of tea,” she murmured as he handed her a mug. “Are you sure you’re not some retired butler?”

Dio chuckled, settling beside her. “I was raised in a house where tea was one of the few peaceful things we were allowed to do.”

Mina hummed softly, cradling the mug in her pale hands. Her mind catalogued the way he tucked his legs under himself, the way his weight made the couch dip just enough for their sides to touch.

She expected the buzz of desire, the easy tension of proximity. What she didn’t expect was this—this quiet hum beneath her ribs. This ache. This… safety.

Dio hit play on the remote, and the screen filled with an aggressively silly romantic comedy about a mermaid barista and a cursed prince who could only speak in coffee metaphors. Mina scoffed at the premise, but twenty minutes later, she was gripping Dio’s arm and stifling giggles into his sleeve.

“This is terrible,” she whispered, eyes wide.

Dio grinned. “I know. Isn’t it great?”

The next time he came over, he brought matching pajamas—his and hers onesies, soft as clouds and covered in constellations. Mina had scoffed. Then blushed. Then wore hers without hesitation.

Each date was like a gentle spiral inward. Movies became marathons. Dinner became cooking together. Their conversations stretched late into the morning, Mina curled against Dio on the floor in a tangle of limbs and blankets, her hair loose and wild from sleep.

She caught herself, more than once, watching him with a feeling that felt too big for her chest.

And that was the problem.

He’d fall asleep beside her on the couch, one arm slung lazily around her waist, and she’d look down at him and feel her fangs ache—not with hunger, but with longing.

She wanted to keep this. She wanted the softness of it, the small domestic rituals. The quiet laughter in moonlight. The late-night confessionals. The sound of someone breathing beside her who wasn’t a dream or a ghost.

Worse—she wanted more.

She wanted children. A family. A little one with Dio’s curls and her sharp eyes, someone to tuck in and read to and protect. A nest, not just a home.

The realization struck her like a blade through silk. She was a vampire. That sort of future had always been off the table—or so she told herself.

Now she lay awake in the stillness after a midnight movie marathon, Dio fast asleep against her chest, and all she could do was stare at the ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes.

The ache inside her was no longer hunger. It was hope.

And that was so much more dangerous.

Weeks passed as Mina’s emotions reignited, her cold distant facade gave way to a real warmth that continued to surprise her but Dio always took in stride. Until today as she was fretting over him after one of his most brutal matches.

Mina paced the length of her sitting room for the fifth time, arms crossed, lips drawn into a tight, unrelenting line.

Dio lay on her chaise, legs outstretched, wrapped in a fuzzy burgundy throw blanket. His knuckles were bruised, a faint sheen of healing scars still blooming over his collarbone and ribs. The fight had been one of the worst she’d seen—vicious, prolonged, and feral. A ferromancer who bent steel like thread and had turned the arena into a death trap. And Dio had won, of course. He always won.

But when she’d seen him stagger for just a moment—just a moment—her dead heart had clenched in a way that made her want to rip the world apart.

“Sit down, Mina,” Dio said gently, watching her with tired amusement. “I’m fine.”

“You were not fine five hours ago,” she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. “You were bleeding and half-conscious and laughing like a lunatic in a crater of your own making.”

“I mean… that’s not inaccurate,” Dio said, smirking.

Mina rounded on him, suddenly at his side, kneeling beside the chaise like a thunderstorm wearing silk. “Do not joke. You could have died.”

Dio blinked. Something in her tone caught him off guard—raw, shaking, terrified.

“I didn’t know I could feel like that,” she whispered. “Not in three hundred years have I… feared like that.”

Dio reached out and took her hand, gently pulling it into his lap, thumb stroking the back of it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She exhaled, still tense. “You didn’t just scare me, Dio. You unmade me.”

A long beat passed between them.

“You think I’m fragile,” he said softly. Not accusatory. Just… observing.

“I know what a human body can and cannot withstand. And yours—Dio, your ribs cracked. I heard it.”

Dio’s fingers laced through hers, calm and steady. “Mina… I’m not just any human. My blood, my bones—they’re hexed.”

Her brow furrowed. “Hexed?”

He nodded, the ghost of a grin on his lips. “The magic went into my blood remember especially with it being old magic that tends to have unintended effects. My blood and bones are Bound with a triple-folded longevity spell, runes etched into the marrow. I regenerate fast, age slower than most vampires, and unless someone decapitates me and sets the remains on fire during a blood moon, I’m not going anywhere.”

Mina stared at him.

“You’re functionally immortal,” she repeated slowly.

Dio shrugged, bashful. “Yeah. Kind of.”

Her shoulders sagged all at once. The relief hit her like a wave. But so did something else—something heavier, quieter, and altogether more terrifying.

She looked at him—really looked—and felt something coil in her stomach, soft and ancient.

“I didn’t know I could be this afraid for someone else,” she said. “I’ve always kept myself above it. Even when I loved before, it was from a distance. But with you…”

She trailed off, voice wavering.

Dio brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, letting his hand linger. “With me?”

“With you, I feel real. Human, almost. Messy. Soft.” Her voice dipped. “And that’s… hard.”

Dio smiled. “You are soft, Mina. You just spent ten minutes arguing with my tea because you thought the leaves didn’t steep long enough to help me recover.”

“I was being correct.”

He laughed. And then he leaned forward, gently kissing her knuckles. “It’s okay to love me like that. You don’t have to apologize for caring.”

Mina’s eyes shimmered, like crimson glass. “You’re not afraid of how… possessive I might become?”

“No,” he said simply. “Because I’ll love you just as fiercely back.”

She swallowed, something old and fragile in her cracking wide open.

They stayed curled together on the couch after that, watching bad television. Mina’s head rested against Dio’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. And for the first time in centuries, she didn’t feel like a creature pretending to be human.

She felt like a woman with something to lose—and someone worth fighting for.

Later that night It was supposed to be a quiet evening—tea, books, maybe another movie with Dio. But then Mina got the text.

Chaeyoung says you’re finally dating?? Bring him. We’re bored.

—Jihyo

Now, Mina sat stiffly on the velvet couch in the parlor of a candlelit bar that didn’t technically exist on any mortal registry. The air was thick with glamour and centuries-old inside jokes. Dio was beside her, surprisingly relaxed for a man surrounded by four immortal women with fangs and questionable boundaries.

“Wow,” said Nayeon, eyeing Mina’s modest blouse and perfectly coiffed bun. “Look at our Little Duchess, all grown up and pretending she’s not secretly a mess.”

“I am not a mess,” Mina said sharply.

Jeongyeon snorted. “You were literally crying over a spilled cup of pig’s blood last time we saw you.”

“It stained a first-edition Lovecraft.”

“You didn’t even like Lovecraft,” Sana chimed in. “You just wanted to sound spooky and well-read.”

“She used to do that all the time,” Jihyo said, settling across from Mina and Dio with a grin. “Remember the poetry phase?”

“Oh gods,” groaned Jeongyeon. “‘Do not go gentle into that good night’ — except she did go gentle. Right into a satin-lined coffin with lavender sachets.”

Dio tried valiantly not to laugh. Mina elbowed him, cheeks flushed the faintest pink. “You’re all insufferable.”

“And you love us,” said Nayeon sweetly, ruffling Mina’s hair before Mina could dodge it. “How’s the mortal, by the way?”

Dio held up a hand in greeting. “Still here. Not dead. Big fan of lavender sachets, actually.”

The other vampires cackled.

“I like him,” said Sana, sipping dark red liquid from a crystal glass. “He’s got good teeth.”

“I’ve been told,” Mina muttered, sliding her hand into Dio’s under the table.

“So,” Jihyo said, eyes narrowing playfully. “Is this serious, Mina? You getting domestic on us?”

Mina hesitated—but only for a second. “Yes,” she said softly, squeezing Dio’s hand. “It is.”

There was a beat of silence. Then:

“Awwwwwwww,” they all groaned in perfect unison.

Mina buried her face in her free hand. “I regret everything.”

Dio leaned toward her, whispering, “They’re like… vampire sorority sisters.”

“They’re my sorority sisters,” Mina said through gritted teeth.

“You were the pledge,” Nayeon teased. “Always trying to out-elegant us with your tea parties and tiny books.”

“And now you’re dating a fighter who drinks chocolate milk,” Jeongyeon added.

“I like chocolate milk,” Dio said, offended.

Jihyo lifted her glass. “To Mina. Our eternal little sister. May she always try and fail to be the most sophisticated one at the table.”

“Cheers!”

Mina groaned. Dio grinned. And somewhere beneath all the chaos and teasing, she felt… home. After several rounds of teasing and a suspiciously spicy blood cocktail courtesy of Sana, the conversation took a turn—as it inevitably did when vampires had too much time and too little shame.

“So,” Jihyo said, eyes glittering with mischief, “have you two… consummated the brooding blood-soaked romance yet?”

Mina choked on her drink.

“Oh my god,” she hissed, dabbing her lips with a napkin as if she could wipe the horror off her face. “Jihyo.”

“What?” Jeongyeon said with a wolfish grin. “You’ve got that freshly-bitten glow.”

“I do not—”

“Definitely glowing,” Nayeon said, nodding. “And soft. Our Little Duchess is getting cuddled, huh?”

“You’re like… radiating ‘I get tucked in at night’ energy,” Sana said, then reached across the table and poked Mina in the cheek. “It’s terrifying.”

“I hate you all,” Mina muttered, clutching Dio’s hand for dear life.

Dio looked between them all, clearly amused. “This is amazing. You’re all like weird, immortal aunties.”

“Excuse you,” Jihyo said, “we are weird, immortal big sisters. There’s a difference.”

“Big sisters who apparently want to know the status of our sex life,” Mina muttered under her breath.

Sana raised an eyebrow. “Well, Mina’s dating a mortal. We have to check! You know how fragile they are. One good bite, and poof.”

Dio chuckled, leaning back comfortably. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Four pairs of vampire eyes turned to him at once.

“Oh?” Jihyo said, intrigued.

“Please don’t,” Mina whispered, burying her face in her hands.

But Dio grinned and said casually, “I’m functionally immortal.”

A beat.

“What?” said Jeongyeon, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” Dio continued, like he wasn’t casually throwing the entire room off its axis. “Hexed blood and bones. Magic in the marrow. Not aging, regenerates fast, can’t die unless you do some extremely complicated magical nonsense under a blood moon.”

The silence that followed was stunned.

Then: “Oh my god,” Nayeon breathed. “Mina, you bagged one of us.”

Mina groaned, sinking lower in her seat.

“That explains the stamina,” Jihyo muttered.

“JIHYO!” Mina shrieked.

The table dissolved into absolute chaos. Dio just laughed, tugging Mina gently into his side.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” she mumbled, cheeks flushed red.

“I think they like me,” he said smugly.

“They like you too much,” she growled.

“I’m immortal,” he whispered into her ear. “You’re stuck with me.”

And despite the embarrassment, the teasing, and the fact that Sana had just offered to make them a “bite-friendly bedroom set,” Mina smiled.

Because it was true. He was hers—and maybe, just maybe, forever wouldn’t be so bad. The teasing finally mellowed into laughter and warm candlelight, the group settling into the kind of comfort only ancient creatures and their obliviously charming mortal-plus-one could achieve.

Dio sipped from his chocolate milk—his third, courtesy of Sana insisting he “hydrate like a good boy”—before glancing at the glass in Nayeon’s hand, still tinged deep red.

“Not to break the vibe,” he said, eyes flicking curiously to the drink, “but… this is actually the first time I’ve seen a vampire drink blood.”

The table fell quiet for half a second.

Then:

“Oh my god,” Nayeon gasped, clutching her chest. “Mina, you’re dating a baby.”

“He’s not a baby,” Mina said with a huff. “He’s just… not used to our dietary habits.”

Sana leaned forward, her eyes twinkling. “Relax, Dio. We don’t need to drink blood like in the old days. Only youngbloods—or ferals—need it that badly. Most of us? We’re white mages.”

“White mages?” Dio echoed, brow furrowed.

Jihyo nodded. “We feed on life energy. Think vibes, warmth, ambient magic. We get what we need through food, touch, music, atmosphere.”

Jeongyeon shrugged. “Basically, anything humans can enjoy? We can too. Life force lingers in it. Blood’s just… concentrated.”

“It’s like espresso,” Nayeon added. “Fun in small doses. A lot if you’re hungover or being dramatic.”

“I drink it because I like the taste,” Sana said unapologetically. “It’s vintage.”

Dio blinked. “So you’re telling me you could all survive just eating, like… pancakes?”

“Pancakes, eggs, spicy noodles, emotional chaos,” Jihyo counted off on her fingers. “All very nourishing.”

“Loud karaoke,” said Jeongyeon.

“Sex,” added Sana casually, making Mina immediately choke again.

“I swear,” Mina said, slamming her hand on the table, “I’m going to bury all of you.”

“With what strength?” Nayeon teased. “You’ve gone soft. He’s feeding you grilled cheese and domesticity.”

Dio leaned in toward Mina with a sly smile. “You have been eating a lot of grilled cheese lately.”

Mina hissed like a feral cat.

The girls howled with laughter. After yet another round of teasing (this one involving a dramatized reenactment by Sana of Mina’s “mortal corruption arc”), Mina abruptly stood up from the table, elegant and cool.

“We’re leaving,” she said, taking Dio’s hand with imperial finality.

“Oh no, are you going to go feed on his life force again?” Jeongyeon called after them, waggling her eyebrows.

Mina didn’t answer. But she didn’t let go of Dio’s hand either.

Outside the bar, the air was crisp and cool, the moon cutting silver paths across the empty sidewalk. Mina walked with quiet grace, her parasol closed now and tucked under her arm. Dio followed at her pace, letting her lead until she stopped under a flickering streetlamp.

She didn’t say anything at first, just looked up at the sky like it had answers she couldn’t reach.

Then: “They’re awful.”

“They’re amazing,” Dio said, smiling. “But yes. Awful.”

Mina finally looked at him. Her expression had softened. No more fangs or fury. Just something rawer, more open. “You make it bearable.”

Dio tilted his head. “The teasing?”

“No,” she said. “The… everything. You make me feel seen. Not as some centuries-old duchess or a walking bloodline, but just… as a person. A woman.”

Dio stepped closer, brushing her knuckles with his thumb. “You do the same for me.”

She blinked, clearly surprised.

“I mean it,” he said. “You know when I’m touch-starved before I even realize it. You always pick the right food after a fight—like, uncannily right. You notice when I go quiet and don’t make me explain it right away. You hold me like…” He stopped, voice catching for a moment. “Like someone who knows what it’s like to carry loneliness in your bones.”

Mina’s lips parted, but no words came. Only feeling.

“I love you in all those little ways,” Dio continued. “In the way you tuck your feet under me when we watch movies. The way you always offer your blood but never pressure me. The way you look at me like I’m more than just… power or spectacle.”

Mina made a small sound—somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Her hands reached for him, trembling slightly as they cupped his cheeks.

“You’re going to destroy me,” she whispered.

Dio’s voice was barely audible. “Only if you let me love you too much.”

Mina kissed him then—slow, desperate, full of centuries of longing and the terrifying brightness of now. When she pulled back, her eyes were gleaming, and her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like she might never let go.

“I want… I need something I’m not supposed to want,” she confessed softly, her forehead resting against his.

“Tell me,” Dio said.

“I want a family,” she breathed. “I want yours. I want to wake up to little feet running down the hall and you making bad pancakes and me trying to act annoyed about it when I’m not.”

Dio’s breath caught in his chest.

“I don’t care that I’m a vampire,” she said. “I just… I want to build a life with you. All the cozy, stupid, mortal things.”

Dio smiled like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever heard.

“Then we’ll build it,” he said. “Brick by brick. Just like Lego.”

Mina let out a wet laugh and pulled him in again, this time not for a kiss, but just to hold him. Tightly. Fiercely. As if she’d found something holy in the mundane—and refused to ever let it go. The two of them reentered the bar hand-in-hand, Mina’s usual poise noticeably wobbled—her lips still a little swollen from kissing, her eyes still glassy from confession, and her hand tangled in Dio’s like it belonged there permanently.

Naturally, the moment they crossed the threshold, the teasing resumed like it had been waiting with bated breath.

“Well, well, well,” Jeongyeon purred, draping herself across the back of a booth like a cat who’d scented blood. “Look who’s back from their midnight snuggle session.”

“Oh no,” Nayeon groaned dramatically. “Is he feeding you again, Mina? You’ve got that soft and cared-for glow.”

“I bet it was grilled cheese again,” Jihyo added with a smug grin. “She’s been talking about those sandwiches like they’re ambrosia.”

Mina let out a truly aristocratic huff, nose tilted high—but her fingers still clung tightly to Dio’s shirt like she hadn’t decided whether she’d kiss him or hide behind him.

“For your information,” she said imperiously, “none of you have had grilled cheese until you’ve had Dio’s grilled cheese—with his tomato soup. It’s transcendent.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“…Did you just say ‘transcendent?’” Jeongyeon asked.

“She did,” Sana gasped. “Mina just praised mortal food like it’s gourmet bloodwine.”

“Okay, but hold on,” Nayeon said, leaning forward. “Is it like, crunchy? Or gooey? Or both?”

“It’s everything,” Mina said dreamily, forgetting to sound cool for a moment. “He’s gotten really good. He even browns the butter just right and uses rosemary, and—wait, why am I explaining this to you peasants?”

“Because you’re in love and weak and he makes you lunch,” Jihyo said cheerfully.

Dio, standing beside her, couldn’t help but grin as Mina’s composure slipped further by the second. She gave him a withering glare, but it was entirely undermined by the flush on her cheeks.

“See, I knew you were going soft,” Nayeon teased. “She probably lets you spoon her during movie nights too.”

Dio looked around innocently. “She actually insists on being the big spoon—”

“Dio!” Mina squeaked, smacking his shoulder in horror as the vampires howled.

Sana doubled over in laughter. “Oh my god. Our terrifying baby duchess is a sandwich-making mortal’s little spoon.”

“Big spoon,” Mina corrected automatically—then winced when she realized she’d walked right into it.

Dio beamed. “She really is. And she hogs the blankets.”

“You’re just mad because you like it,” Mina mumbled, folding her arms as if it might protect her from the glee of the undead.

“I do,” Dio said softly, and the sincerity in his voice was so disarming that for a moment, even the teasing died down.

Mina looked at him, the corners of her mouth twitching toward a smile she didn’t try to hide this time. She laced her fingers with his again and let the warmth of his presence settle against the centuries-old chill in her chest.

“I hate how much I like you,” she whispered, almost like it was a secret between them.

“Good,” Dio whispered back. “Because I’m going to keep making you sandwiches until you admit you love me more than bloodwine.”

“I already do,” Mina muttered, barely audible. “But if you tell them that, I’ll turn you into a bat.”

He grinned. “Noted.”

Dio excused himself with a kiss to Mina’s temple and a sleepy smile, making his way toward the restroom. The moment he disappeared around the corner, Mina sighed and leaned forward over the table. Her elegant facade dropped like a curtain at the end of a play.

“Okay,” she muttered, eyes flicking between her sisters-in-darkness. “Can you all stop teasing me for five seconds?”

Nayeon raised an eyebrow, Jeongyeon leaned in like she smelled drama, and Sana clutched her drink with theatrical reverence.

Jihyo blinked. “Why?”

Mina hesitated, then took a breath, voice barely above a whisper. “Is there… is there a way for a vampire to have children?”

The teasing died instantly. The group exchanged quick, surprised glances—except for Momo, who had gone quiet long before Dio left.

It was Momo who answered, her voice gentle but solemn. “There is.”

Mina looked at her, startled. “There is?”

Momo nodded and, without another word, pulled out her phone. She tapped it a few times, then turned the screen toward Mina.

On it was a picture of a little girl with warm, caramel-brown skin, bright eyes, and the most mischievous smile imaginable. Her name—“Suki”—was scribbled in pink on the photo’s border.

“She’s mine,” Momo said softly. “My daughter. Born from my body. Half-vampire. All chaos.”

Mina’s breath caught. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is,” Momo said, her eyes fond but tired. “And worth every moment. But it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

The others fell quiet. Even the usual chaos that followed them dimmed under the weight of Momo’s tone.

“I had to suppress my vampirism completely,” she explained. “Nine months. My body relied entirely on white magic. I couldn’t feed—at least, not like we normally do. I was hungrier than I’ve ever been. Like a newborn again. But it had to be that way… or she wouldn’t have survived.”

Mina swallowed hard. “And the life magic?”

“You have to learn it well,” Momo said. “Not just to survive, but to keep the baby stable. You’ll need food—real food—every day. You’ll be ravenous and delicate at the same time.”

“And Dio?”

Momo’s expression softened, but her voice dropped lower. “It’ll change things between you. You’ll be more aggressive, more territorial. More… needy. And lustful. You’ll fight more. Want more. Demand more. And I know—” her eyes flicked toward the hallway Dio had vanished into, “—you haven’t even been intimate yet. He’s still got that glow.”

Mina flushed, looking away. “We’re waiting.”

“That’s fine,” Momo said. “But you should know… if you go through with this, you’re going to want him in every way. Constantly. Not just to love you—but to anchor you.”

Mina stared at the photo of Suki, her heart torn between longing and fear.

“Is it worth it?” she asked.

Momo didn’t hesitate. “Yes. But only if you’re ready. You’ll need him more than ever. And he’ll have to stop fighting.”

Mina blinked. “What?”

“You’re already scared when he gets hurt, right?” Momo asked gently. “Imagine how you’ll feel when you’re carrying his child. Every fight he takes will feel like a knife. Every bruise, a betrayal. He won’t be able to be what he is now. He’ll need to find a new path. I’d suggest mage school—study under a master, maybe become one himself. He’s strong. Smart. Loyal. He can do it.”

The words hit Mina harder than she expected. Her hands trembled faintly on her drink.

“And once the baby comes?” she whispered.

“You’ll never be the same,” Momo said simply. “But you’ll be more. So much more.”

Mina stared at the photo of Suki a moment longer, then locked her phone screen and leaned back, heart pounding.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Momo just nodded—and a second later, Dio returned with a warm smile and a gentle brush of his fingers against hers, completely unaware of the quiet, seismic decision his lover might be considering.

Eventually Mina and Dio left for real and went home to sleep and recharge for the next day. Dio had a big fight scheduled and needed to be sharp. The soft hum of the city beyond the curtains was a distant echo—muted, forgettable. Inside the apartment, everything was still. The clock on the wall ticked quietly past 4 a.m.

Mina sat on the edge of their bed, curled into Dio’s oversized hoodie, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her hair was a dark river down her back, and her hands cradled a mug of untouched tea. The warmth wasn’t what she needed. What she needed… she couldn’t name.

Behind her, Dio lay sleeping, one arm stretched out across the bed, fingers twitching faintly with the dreams he never seemed to remember. He looked peaceful, unburdened—and that made the knot in her chest twist tighter.

She didn’t mean to wake him. But her sigh must have carried too much weight, because she heard the sheets shift and his groggy voice follow.

“Mina?”

She turned, blinking fast. He was sitting up now, eyes half-lidded but alert, already reaching for her.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse with sleep. “Nightmare?”

Mina hesitated, then shook her head. “No… just thinking.”

He scooted closer behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “At four in the morning?”

Mina smiled faintly, leaning into the warmth of his touch. “I’ve been up for a while.”

Dio was quiet for a beat, then kissed her neck gently. “Talk to me.”

There was no judgment in his voice. Just invitation. She held the silence for a moment longer before finally speaking.

“I talked to Momo,” she said softly. “About… about the possibility of having a child.”

That woke Dio up instantly. He didn’t pull away, but he stilled.

Mina pressed on, her voice quiet but steady. “She told me there’s a way. It’s hard. Dangerous, even. I’d have to suppress my vampirism for the entire pregnancy. Use life magic to survive. I’d be starving every day, like a new blood. Aggressive. Possessive. And—”

She paused, swallowing thickly.

“—and it might strain us. A lot.”

Dio let out a slow breath. “That’s… a lot to carry alone.”

“I wasn’t going to tell you yet,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to scare you. You’ve already seen so many versions of me, Dio. The flirt. The warrior. The bratty aristocrat. But this… this version of me? The one that wants something so soft, so human? I didn’t know she still existed.”

He didn’t speak, but his hand found hers, fingers lacing tightly.

“I watch you sleep,” she whispered, “and I think about what it would be like to see you holding our child. I think about them looking like you, or having your laugh. And then I hate myself for wanting it. Because what if it ruins everything?”

Dio finally spoke, his voice a low, careful murmur. “Mina…”

She looked at him, eyes shining. “I’m terrified. But I’m also… starting to think I want it more than anything.”

His thumb brushed over her knuckles. “Do you?” he asked gently. “Do you really want this?”

Mina didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. Her voice trembled, but it was true.

“Yes. I do.”

The silence that followed was heavy—but not with dread. It was weighty with possibility, with meaning.

Dio leaned forward and kissed her forehead, holding her close. “Then we’ll figure it out,” he said quietly. “Together.”

Mina let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. And for the first time that night, she felt like she could breathe again.

Mina had never imagined herself preparing for a child. Yet now, her home with Dio was slowly being transformed—soft blankets for nesting, a new alchemy stove for more nutrition-heavy meals, and bookshelves stacked with grimoires about white magic, life suppression rituals, and prenatal arcane warding.

Dio, ever the homebody beneath his warrior bravado, took to the preparations with a quiet seriousness that made Mina’s chest ache with affection. He cooked for her daily, slipping extra garlic, iron, and life-rich ingredients into every meal. He’d bring home herbal teas he thought she might like, and even researched lullabies from three different languages for “just in case.”

But as the days passed, Mina’s body began to shift. It started subtly—her scent became more intoxicating to Dio, her voice carried a musical hum that made his knees weak. Her thighs filled out, plush and warm, her skin gained a healthy blush, and the silk of her hair shimmered unnaturally in candlelight. By the second week, she was radiating mating pheromones strong enough that even passing dhampirs turned to look at her.

It was getting harder to ignore the need clawing at her. Her possessiveness sharpened. Her appetite—both blood and otherwise—grew harder to restrain. And still… Dio remained careful. Respectful. Patient.

Which drove her insane.

The tension reached its peak after Dio’s last and one of his bloodiest fights. Mina fussed over him so much that Mina arrived at the coven meeting late, dressed immaculately in a midnight silk dress that barely clung to her now wider hips. She was radiant—goddess-like, iridescent, and absolutely livid.

Dio had taken a brutal blow to the ribs that had cracked against the arena floor, and though his hexed bones were already healing, the scent of burnt blood still lingered on him. Mina sat beside him, one leg draped possessively over his knee, fingers idly stroking his jaw—but her smile was tight, her voice clipped, and her crimson eyes glowed with leashed fury.

And then Haewon, a junior vampire freshly ascended and woefully naive, leaned across the table with a too-friendly smile and said, “That was an incredible final blow, Dio. I’ve never seen blood magic used like that. Do you train with anyone?”

Mina didn’t move at first. But her aura pulsed, dark and seething.

Haewon blinked. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“You’re new,” Mina said flatly, her voice quiet and ice-edged. “So I’ll excuse your ignorance. But speak to my mate like that again and I will teach you what kind of wounds don’t heal with magic.”

The room fell silent. The other vampires all exchanged knowing looks, several glancing at Momo who subtly nodded: Mina was entering the possessive phase.

Dio reached out, brushing Mina’s hand. “Hey. I’m okay.”

She didn’t look at him. Her jaw clenched tighter. “You could’ve died. I smelled your lungs bleeding.”

“I know. But I didn’t.”

“You’re too careful,” she snapped under her breath, barely audible, “Too respectful. I’m ready. You know I’m ready. But you keep waiting and being sweet and calm and—and I’m burning, Dio.”

Haewon wisely slipped to the far end of the table.

Later that night, when they were alone in Mina’s chambers, Dio gently pressed her back into the cushions and rested his forehead against hers. “I’m not waiting because I’m scared of you,” he whispered. “I’m waiting because I want to give you everything—comfort, safety, peace. I love you in ways that don’t always burn.”

Mina trembled under his touch, her breath catching. “I don’t want peace tonight,” she whispered, voice husky. “I want you.”

His hands found hers and laced their fingers together. “Then you have me. Body and soul. And when it’s time, we’ll do this right—because you and I? We’re not just making a child. We’re making a legacy.”

A few days later, The moon hung low, fat and golden, casting soft light through the sheer curtains of Mina’s bedroom. The whole house was quiet—too quiet for someone whose every nerve was on fire.

Mina lay sprawled across the velvet settee in one of Dio’s oversized t-shirts, her thighs twitching, her fangs out, her eyes burning crimson. Her body pulsed with heat and hunger, a low, primal ache thrumming through every inch of her skin. She’d scented Dio the moment he stepped through the front door, and it had nearly broken her.

He was freshly showered, warm, smelling faintly of soap and blood and him. The pheromones in her body screamed at her to pounce. Claim. Breed. Now.

Dio, poor sweet Dio, sat beside her calmly, rubbing soothing circles on her back, his voice low and patient. “It’s almost time,” he murmured. “Just one more night. You’ve got this.”

Mina groaned and buried her face in his chest. “I don’t got this. I’m two seconds away from riding you into the astral plane. I want you so bad it hurts. I want you everywhere. I want you full of me. I want you broken and wrecked and clinging to me like I’m the only air you’ve got.”

Dio chuckled softly. “Well, that’s an image.”

She swatted his shoulder, growling. “Stop being nice. I don’t need nice. I need primal. I need chaos. I need to be ruined.”

“You’re talking in italics again, baby,” Dio teased, kissing her temple.

Mina whimpered. “I swear I can smell your spine.”

Dio shifted, clearly restraining himself. “I’m here. We’re going to do this right, remember? Not just out of instinct. Out of love. With intention.”

“I want to intentionally suck your soul out through your d—”

Knock knock knock.

Mina froze, eyes darting to the door.

Dio blinked. “Did you—?”

Before she could answer, the door opened, and in sauntered Sana with a duffel bag and a grin, followed by Momo, who was already taking off her coat and kicking off her boots.

“Evening, lovebirds,” Sana chirped. “We brought blood pudding and a projector. Girls’ night.”

Mina stared at them, expression murderous.

“No,” she growled. “No, absolutely not. You’re not interrupting—”

Momo breezed by and plopped onto the couch, tossing a stress ball into Mina’s lap. “You’re about to imprint on Dio’s thigh like a duckling. You need a buffer zone.”

Sana flopped dramatically next to her. “You’re too hormonally feral right now. You’ll snap him in half before he even gets his pants off. We’re here to distract you with snacks, trash TV, and physical restraint if necessary.”

“I hate you both,” Mina hissed.

“We know,” Momo said sweetly. “Now eat this pudding and watch this ridiculous dating show where everyone’s secretly a ghost.”

Dio kissed Mina’s forehead as he got up to give them space. “You’ll be okay. I promise. I love you.”

Mina looked up at him with wide, desperate eyes. “I love you too. But if they weren’t here I’d have eaten you whole.”

He winked. “I know. That’s why they’re here.”

As Dio left the room, Mina sighed and flopped onto the floor, defeated and feral and glowing like the core of a dying star.

Sana handed her a spoon. “Here. Distract your mouth before it finds something else to do.”

Mina grabbed it with a growl.

“Tomorrow,” she muttered. “He’s mine tomorrow.”

Momo raised her blood pouch in a toast. “To tomorrow—and surviving tonight.” Mina sat on the floor now, hair slightly frazzled, Dio’s t-shirt stretched across her chest like a battle-worn flag of surrender. Her thighs were pressed together so tightly it looked like she was trying to hold in a hurricane. A half-finished bowl of blood pudding sat next to her, mostly ignored.

Sana was lying sideways on the couch with her feet dangling off the armrest, tossing popcorn into Momo’s mouth like it was a sport.

“And then,” Momo said between bites, “Mina looked at that junior archivist like she was a snack and Dio was her lunch.”

“She was touching his arm for too long,” Mina snarled, her fangs still out. “I could smell her arousal. I was doing her a favor.”

Sana nearly choked on laughter. “You almost tore her throat out in front of the blood scribe! You’re lucky I dragged you out when I did.”

Mina groaned, dragging her hands over her face. “I’m not used to this. I feel like my body’s staging a coup.”

“You’re nesting,” Momo said gently. “Your instincts are trying to prep you for the bond and the baby. That includes being crazy possessive and horny enough to climb a building just to scent mark him.”

“I did think about peeing on his shoes,” Mina muttered.

Sana dropped the popcorn. “Oh my god. Please don’t.”

At that moment, Dio—sweet, doomed Dio—entered the room holding a tray of grilled cheese triangles and a steaming bowl of tomato soup.

“I brought snacks,” he said, smiling.

Mina’s eyes snapped to him like a hawk spotting prey. She half-rose before both Sana and Momo lunged to hold her down, pinning her by the shoulders and arms.

“Nope,” Sana said firmly. “Down, girl.”

Momo grinned. “You’re not breaking the mattress tonight, remember?”

Mina whined low in her throat, “But his forearms are out.”

“He’s literally just holding a tray,” Momo said, laughing.

“That’s worse!”

Dio blinked. “Should I… go?”

Sana took the tray from him. “You should stay exactly where you are. But maybe… three feet back.”

Mina let out a pitiful whimper, burying her face into Momo’s shoulder. “This is the worst. My body’s like, ‘Impregnate me now or I will combust in a shower of love and plasma.’”

“You’re so dramatic,” Momo said, patting her head.

Sana shoved a grilled cheese into Mina’s hands. “Eat this. Food before frenzy.”

Mina bit into it angrily, but her eyes closed in bliss. “He used smoked gouda. He knows.”

“She’s gonna cry,” Momo whispered to Sana. “Look at her. She’s feral and emotional.”

“I’m not crying,” Mina said, definitely crying.

Dio carefully sat on the armrest of a chair across the room, sipping his soup. “You know, this is kind of fun.”

Mina looked up at him, eyes still glassy. “I’m in love with you so bad it hurts. And I want your babies. But also I want to punch you for smelling so good.”

“Thank you?” Dio said, completely overwhelmed but smiling anyway.

Sana snorted. “He’s too pure for this world.”

Momo raised her blood pouch again. “To Dio: survivor of Mina’s pheromonal rage.”

Mina groaned and flopped backward again. “You’re all awful. I love you.”

Sana threw a blanket over her. “Love you too, baby vamp. Now watch this dating show with us before you eat your mate alive.”

On cue Dio left back to the living room where he’d sleep on the couch for one last night. The next morning Dio somehow ended up in bed next to Mina. She held him tight although he didn’t mind at first until he remembered he had an interview with Lady Libertas of the veritas Magic Academy

The sky over the city was painted in the soft lavender of early dawn as Dio adjusted the collar of his shirt in the mirror. His hair was still slightly damp from a rushed shower, and a faint bruise still lingered on his jaw from the last fight—a fading memory of violence that felt miles away from the atmosphere of Mina’s coven apartment the night before.

Mina was still asleep, curled up in their bed like a queen and a kitten all at once, but Dio had to leave early. Today was important.

Dio rode his motorcycle to he School of Liberation arrived just as the sun broke fully over the skyline. A silver-gilded crest—an open hand releasing a burst of light—was etched into the door. The driver bowed slightly before letting Dio in.

The School of Liberation sat like a floating island in the middle of the city, arcane energy drifting through its crystalline halls. The air shimmered with a kind of magic that hummed freedom, but also discipline. At its heart, in a circular chamber of mirrors and flowing light, sat Lady Libertas.

She was ageless, dressed in layered robes that flickered between white and bronze, her long hair falling like poured sunlight over her shoulders. She studied Dio the moment he stepped into the circle—her eyes glowing with a magic that saw through people.

“You’re late,” she said mildly, though her voice rang like a bell.

“I brought soup for the guards,” Dio offered, holding up a small thermos with a grin.

One of the guards awkwardly sniffed it. “It smells amazing, actually.”

Libertas raised an eyebrow. “You joke under pressure. That’s either foolish or admirable. Let’s find out which.”

She gestured, and the chamber bloomed to life with flowing magical currents and concentric rings of spellwork. “You’ll channel spirit energy through this focus. I want to see how well you resonate with it.”

Dio nodded and stepped into the ring. As the sigils glowed, he reached inward—not toward his blood magic, not to his aura—but toward something else. Something deeper. His self.

The chamber trembled. Wind swept through the room, light flaring so bright one of the mirrors cracked. Lady Libertas stood, visibly surprised.

“…That’s not blood magic,” she murmured. “That’s pure, unfiltered soulcraft. But you channel through aura and blood?”

Dio stepped out of the ring, slightly winded. “Yeah. I guess. I didn’t grow up with tutors. My family was anti-magic. I had to teach myself. Aura came naturally in fights. Blood came when I needed to survive. Spirit magic felt… too out of reach.”

Libertas studied him with new eyes. “You’re uncut stone. But your core—your resonance—is stronger than any I’ve tested in decades. Spirit magic should sing through you like a second language.”

Dio scratched his neck. “I guess I never had the chance to learn the words.”

There was a pause. Then Libertas smiled, a real one, rare and reverent.

“Then I’ll teach you.”

He blinked. “Wait, personally?”

She nodded. “I won’t waste potential like yours. You’re strong, but more than that—resilient. And that’s what spirit magic needs. A heart that won’t break, even when the soul is tested.”

Dio grinned, cheeks flushed. “Thanks. I’m kind of a fast learner.”

“I can tell.” She looked him over once more and said, “Also, tell your vampire girlfriend to stop trying to bribe the interview board with food.”

Dio laughed. “She means well. But yeah… I’ll talk to her.”

As he walked out of the chamber, the wind trailing behind him still carried echoes of something powerful and ancient—his spirit, finally beginning to singing but he was quickly reminded he had someone else to attend to.

The sun had barely kissed the horizon when Mina’s eyes snapped open.

She reached across the bed instinctively, expecting warmth. Expecting him. But the sheets were cold.

“Dio?” Her voice cracked with sleep and confusion. Then again, louder—more panicked. “Dio?”

He wasn’t in the apartment.

She sat up too fast. The silk sheets tangled at her waist, her hair spilling over bare shoulders. Her body ached—not with pain, but with the overwhelming need that had been building for days. Now it wasn’t just aching, it was roaring. Her fangs itched. Her thighs pressed together like they could quell the fire between them, but it only made things worse.

Mina’s pupils dilated until her crimson irises were almost swallowed whole. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, skin flushed, nipples hard, thighs trembling. Where was he?

The apartment was empty, and the air smelled like Dio—but old. Faded. Not enough.

Her heart raced in a way that was unfamiliar, terrifying. It wasn’t just desire. It was biology. Her body was screaming at her: He needs to be here. He needs to be inside. Now.

She staggered to the living room, wrapped in one of his shirts, barely able to form coherent thoughts. Everything felt slow and fast at once, like her blood was singing and sobbing at the same time.

She clutched the back of the couch, panting. “I—I can’t take this—I’ll find him—I’ll drag him back and I’ll—”

The door opened.

Mina froze.

And there he was.

Dio, looking slightly wind-blown from the morning commute, coffee in one hand, papers in the other, blinking at her with his usual disarming calm.

“Hey, sleepyhead—”

Mina moved before he could finish.

She tackled him. Coffee spilled. Paperwork scattered. The door slammed behind them as she shoved him against it, her mouth crashing into his with a desperate, growling kiss that nearly knocked the air from his lungs.

“Mina—” he managed to gasp between kisses, “—are you okay?”

“No,” she hissed. Her voice was wrecked and shaky and burning. “I’m not okay. I’ve been a mess all morning—and you left me.” She kissed him again, deeper, harder, her hands roaming. “I can’t think straight. I need you. I need you so bad it hurts.”

Dio, wide-eyed and breathless, dropped everything in his hands and steadied her by the waist.

“You’re—oh gods, Mina—your scent is everywhere.”

“Because I’m ready,” she groaned. “My body’s begging for you. I can’t keep pretending I’m in control.”

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

She nodded frantically, biting her lip. “I want everything. I want you. All of you.”

Dio kissed her again—slower this time, deeper, grounding her. “Then let me take care of you, Mina.”

The door clicked shut.

She didn’t say a word as Dio scooped her up to the bedroom

“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered hoarsely, voice cracking like dried velvet. “You weren’t here, and my mind—it wouldn’t stop—I need you, Dio. I need you.”

He dropped his satchel without looking. Hands rose gently to her cheeks, thumbs brushing the burning skin beneath her eyes.

“I know,” he said softly. “I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her lip trembled.

Mina had always been poised, divine in the way statues are divine—distant, unyielding, immortal. But now? She was messy. Breathless. Needy. And there was something holy in her breaking.

Dio kissed her, slow at first, like easing a fever with ice. She moaned into him, her entire body curling inward, desperate to be filled, calmed, seen. The kiss deepened, frantic, lips dragging, hands roaming, like both of them were searching for something they’d only ever found in each other.

Clothes came off piece by piece—her blouse fell away like silk rain, his shirt was peeled from sweat-damp skin, and Mina gasped when she felt his chest against hers. The heat of him, the solid, warm thrum of his heartbeat under her palm.

“I want to give you everything,” she murmured. “I want to make something new with you. Something only we can create.”

Dio swallowed hard, eyes glistening with something just shy of tears. He pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, “Then take all of me.”

And she did.

She led him to the bed not like a queen claiming a throne, but like a woman surrendering to something bigger than magic, than blood, than eternity. Her body moved with aching slowness against his, and Dio met her with reverence, their rhythm building not with urgency, but with certainty.

It wasn’t about lust anymore. It was about fulfillment. About the hush between breaths and the trust in soft hands. About the fire that didn’t burn, but warmed. Mina spread her legs waiting for Dio to fill her and when he did she lost it.

Mina cried out—soft and wild—when she felt the ache inside her finally met. Her back arched as she held Dio to her, desperate to keep him inside, as if he could quiet the storm with the press of his heart against hers.

He whispered her name like a promise.

She called his like a prayer. His thrust were gentle at first but Mina needed more. She had been desperate for so long she needed Dio to be ravenous. So she whispered in his ear

And when they both came undone, it wasn’t a climax—it was a becoming.

Later, tangled in the warmth of each other’s bodies, Mina traced her fingers over Dio’s chest, dazed and glowing, the itch in her womb finally calmed, the hollow in her heart finally full.

“I didn’t know it could feel like that,” she murmured.

Dio smiled and kissed her temple. “Neither did I.”

She fell asleep curled against him, a satisfied sigh in her throat, the scent of salt and clove lingering in the air. And for the first time in centuries, she dreamt of the future.

Not of blood or power.

But of cribs, laughter… and a child with golden eyes.

Despite Momo’s many warnings, Mina’s pregnancy had passed far more smoothly than anyone expected—though not without one major complication. She and Dio hadn’t just had a child. They’d had twins.

Hiro and Suzume Castillo were as different as night and day. Hiro, the elder by three minutes, was fully human but had inherited Mina’s piercing crimson eyes—a mystery even Libertas found fascinating. Suzume, on the other hand, was half-vampire, with silver-white hair and tiny canines that peeked out whenever she smiled. While Hiro radiated quiet curiosity, Suzume was all fire and chaos—a miniature aristocrat with a mischief streak a mile wide.

As for Dio, he had flourished under Lady Libertas’s tutelage. Though not a prodigy in the traditional sense—he’d been self-taught and working with blood and aura magic for years—he completed her six-year curriculum in just three. What he lacked in formal structure, he made up for with relentless drive and a soul resonance so powerful it left even seasoned mages in awe.

Which brings us to today.

The morning began in chaos—gentle, giggling chaos.

A high-pitched shriek echoed down the hallway, followed by the slap-slap-slap of bare feet on hardwood. Another shriek, slightly lower and tinged with laughter, followed in hot pursuit.

Dio cracked open one eye just in time to see two blurs—a streak of silver and a puff of black curls—barrel through the bedroom door.

“Papa! Mama! Wake up!” Suzume yelled gleefully, launching herself onto the bed like a tiny missile.

“Time for pancakes!” Hiro added with quiet urgency, climbing up after her.

Mina groaned from beneath the covers. “It’s not even seven…”

“Wrong,” Suzume chirped, her fangs glinting in the early light. “It’s pancake o’clock!”

Dio chuckled, sitting up and catching Hiro before he could tackle Mina’s side of the bed. “Alright, alright—pancakes it is. But you’ve gotta let Mama get dressed first.”

Mina peeked out from under the duvet, her crimson eyes bleary, her hair an elegant disaster. “They’re too powerful,” she mumbled. “We created tiny warlords.”

“They get it from you,” Dio said, kissing her temple before gently scooping both children off the bed.

“But they get that early bird energy from you giving them reasonable bedtimes,” Mina grumbled as she flopped dramatically onto her pillow.

“I’m sorry I go to bed like a normal person, Mrs. Night Owl. Not all of us can live like nocturnal nobility,” Dio shot back with a smirk.

Mina rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small, satisfied smile tugging at her lips.

Ten minutes later, Mina was brushing out her hair in the kitchen, still in her pajama top and silk shorts, while Suzume sat on the counter and Hiro perched at the table. They were drawing runes into their pancakes with syrup—Suzume’s glowing faintly from over-enthusiastic enchantments.

Dio stood at the stove in an apron covered in glitter, courtesy of the twins’ latest “experiment.” He flipped the last of the pancakes onto a plate just as his phone buzzed.

Lady Libertas.

He answered on speaker while setting the syrup down. “Morning, Archmagus.”

Libertas’s voice came through crisp and direct. “Good. You're awake. I’m canceling my lecture today.”

Mina raised a curious brow, combing through Suzume’s hair with a silver brush.

“I need you to step in for my soulcraft class,” Libertas continued. “They’re covering resonance fields—and frankly, you’re better at it than I am.”

Dio blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly. You’ve refined the process in a way diagrams can’t convey. Just—don’t scare them too badly with the aura projections. And do not, under any circumstances, demonstrate Ultima.”

Dio chuckled, already organizing a lesson plan in his head. “Got it. I’ll be there by ten.”

“Good. You’re officially on the faculty roster now, Professor Castillo.”

Mina snorted into her tea.

As the call ended, Dio turned toward the twins—who were now attempting to levitate their pancakes. One floated, wobbled, then splatted back down with a gooey slap.

He glanced at Mina, who sipped her tea with a glint of amusement in her eyes.

“Professor Castillo, huh?” she teased. “Should I call you that in bed?”

Dio turned a little pink, grinning. “Only if you want a lecture on how much I love you.”

Mina rolled her eyes but leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Cheesy.”

“Made with the finest soul curd,” he replied, just as Hiro groaned from the table.

“Dad jokes already?” Hiro asked, deadpan.

Suzume nodded solemnly. “He’s evolving. We have to stop him.”

Their laughter echoed through the house, blending with the smell of syrup and the crackle of magic in the air. It was loud, messy, and theirs—a life full of wonder, crafted by love, effort, and a little chaos.

Just the way they liked it.

Because of time constraints—and the undeniable chaos two magically-inclined toddlers could cause during a soulcraft lecture—Mina had decided to drop the twins off at their Aunt Momo’s for the morning while Dio taught his first class.

The drive over was blissfully uneventful, which was rare. The twins, strapped in their car seats, spent most of the ride chattering excitedly about all the fun they were going to have with their cousin Suki.

“I hope she still has the slime bucket,” Suzume said, practically vibrating with anticipation.

“She said she got glitter slime now,” Hiro added with reverence, like it was the eighth wonder of the world.

Dio parked the car in front of a cozy, ivy-draped townhouse with a wraparound porch and flower boxes under every window. He adjusted his satchel across his shoulder, casting a glance at the tiny tornadoes trailing after him like determined ducklings.

“You’ve got your charm anchors?” he asked as they approached the front walk.

Both kids held up their wrists with solemn pride—homemade bracelets woven with protection runes, blessed with white magic and glitter stickers.

“Papa, we’re not babies,” Hiro said with maximum three-year-old indignation, puffing his chest like he was about to duel a dragon.

“You’re three,” Mina deadpanned, gliding up beside them in a sleek navy coat and oversized sunglasses. Despite the morning sun, she radiated cool elegance with a designer diaper bag slung effortlessly over one arm like a purse of power.

They rounded the corner, and waiting on the porch like a one-woman welcome committee was Momo, waving cheerfully. Her five-year-old daughter, Suki, bolted down the steps with a squeal of joy.

“Cousins!” she shrieked, throwing herself into the twins with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for fireworks and candy. The three of them immediately collapsed into a giggling, squirmy hug pile on the front lawn.

“They’re not technically cousins,” Dio muttered under his breath.

“Don’t ruin it,” Mina whispered back, elbowing him gently.

As the kids rolled on the grass debating which slime to summon first, Mina started toward the porch to help settle them in—until Momo crossed her arms and blocked her path with a knowing smile.

“Wait, aren’t you going to watch your husband’s first lecture as a real professor?” Momo asked, her voice lilting with mock innocence.

Mina blinked. “I thought I was watching the kids?”

Momo stepped aside and gestured broadly toward the house. “I’ve got it covered—snacks, Legos, a slime crafting zone in the backyard, and ten gallons of patience. They’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” Mina asked, her voice softening just a little with maternal caution.

Momo lifted an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna stand there and tell me you’d rather change slime-covered shirts than sit front row and watch Professor Dio Castillo explain soul resonance—in a fitted linen shirt that hugs his biceps just enough to cause scandal?”

Mina stared at her. “...That’s a strong argument.”

“I thought so.”

A heartbeat later, the twins were safely inside—already neck-deep in finger paint—and Mina was sliding her arm through Dio’s as he turned to leave, tugging him a little closer with a familiar gleam in her crimson eyes.

“You better impress me, Professor,” she purred, lips brushing against his cheek as they walked back to the car.

Dio arched a brow. “No pressure, huh?”

“Oh, there’s so much pressure,” she whispered, her voice like silk wrapped around a dagger. “You’re not just giving your first lecture. You’re doing it with me sitting front row… staring at you like I want to devour every inch of you.”

Dio swallowed hard, a hint of color rising to his cheeks. “You realize I’m going to have to give this lecture while actively pretending I’m not turned on?”

Mina smirked, smug and satisfied. “Sounds like a you problem, Professor Castillo.”

He groaned softly, shaking his head as they reached the car. “You are so lucky you’re hot.”

“I know,” Mina said sweetly, sliding into the passenger seat like a queen settling onto a throne. “Now drive. I want a good seat before the freshmen take the back rows and start whispering about how hot you are.”

Dio muttered something under his breath that sounded like a prayer and started the engine.

The city rolled by in a blur of spring sunlight and enchanted taxis, cherry blossoms drifting through the air like confetti from some benevolent goddess of chaos. Dio kept both hands planted firmly on the wheel, jaw clenched in quiet focus. He was trying—trying—to think about his lecture, to mentally review his notes, to stay calm.

But Mina had no intention of making it easy.

She lounged in the passenger seat like temptation incarnate, one leg crossed over the other, her coat undone just enough to reveal a flash of deep wine-red lace at the neckline. Sunlight danced on her sunglasses, but her mouth was the real danger—a slow, feline smile creeping across her lips like she was already halfway through undressing him with her eyes.

“I must say,” she murmured as they cruised down the glimmering main road, “it’s strange not having someone in the backseat asking if jellybeans count as breakfast.”

Dio glanced at her warily. “Let’s not jinx it. We’ve got maybe two hours of peace. Don’t summon the jellybean gods.”

Mina chuckled, her fingers casually brushing his arm before sliding down to rest lightly on his thigh. “Mmm. Two hours. A blissful eternity in parent time.”

Dio’s grip on the wheel tightened just enough to make his knuckles pale. “Mina.”

She ignored the warning in his voice, or maybe savored it. “Do you realize what this means?” she purred, eyes sparkling behind her glasses. “The twins are in the care of their wonderful Auntie Momo. That leaves you and me… alone. The house, empty. Our bed, untouched. My sanity, fraying.”

She punctuated each phrase with a gentle squeeze of his thigh, sending a shiver up his spine.

“I’ve been so patient, Dio,” she went on, her voice turning syrupy and rich. “Three years of middle-of-the-night feedings, growth spurts, emotional meltdowns—your emotional meltdowns during teething—and those little charm mishaps that turn furniture into sentient furniture.”

He gave her a helpless look. “Charm mishaps?”

She didn’t skip a beat. “Your son turned my silk sheets into crawling ivy last month. They tried to strangle me.”

Dio stifled a laugh. “He’s talented.”

“He’s lucky he’s cute,” Mina said, grinning before leaning closer, her lips a whisper from his ear. “But now… now there’s no one home. No distractions. No slime jars. No talisman glue on the countertops. Just me… and the unholy number of things I plan to do to you once you’re done playing professor.”

Dio made a sound somewhere between a cough and a moan.

“I swear to every god who ever breathed magic into a leyline,” he muttered, “if you keep talking like that, I’m going to drive this car into a dimensional rift.”

Mina leaned in again, one fingertip trailing lazily up the inside of his arm. Goosebumps bloomed in her wake. “That’s why I’ll be waiting in the front row, husband mine. Wearing my shortest skirt. With very, very bad intentions.”

“Mina,” he choked out.

“Yes?”

“I need to drive.”

“I am helping. You’ll be highly motivated to finish that lecture. Think of the reward structure.”

He shot her a look, flushed and exasperated, but his mouth betrayed him with a crooked smile.

“You’re the worst.”

“And you love me for it,” she said sweetly, kissing his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt.

He shook his head, trying to focus as the academy gates came into view.

“You realize if I crash, they’ll list ‘vampire wife' as the cause of death.”

“They’d be right,” Mina whispered smugly, fingers brushing the top button of his shirt before retreating just in time.

Dio parked the car with the precision of a man clinging to the last threads of self-control. He sat there for a moment, hands still on the wheel, breathing deep.

Mina reclined in her seat like a cat in the sun, perfectly pleased.

“Now go impress me,” she said with a wink. “And remember—I’ll be in the front row, imagining you without that shirt the entire time.”

Dio groaned.

“I’m doomed.”

“You’re married,” Mina said, sliding out of the car with an elegant swish of coat and legs. “There’s a difference.”

The morning air was crisp as they pulled into the academy, sunlight catching on the spires of the crystalline towers like golden fire. The Academy of Etheric Arts shimmered against the dawn, still quiet, cloaked in the hush of early spells and distant bells. Only a few robed figures drifted across the stone paths—students and staff beginning their day with discipline and incantations.

Dio maneuvered the car into the private lot reserved for senior faculty, per Lady Libertas’s personal recommendation, and parked neatly beneath a tree charmed to bloom year-round. The moment the engine sighed into silence, Mina unbuckled her seatbelt with a slow click that somehow sounded sinful.

She stretched—languid and deliberate—arching her back like a waking predator, the silk of her blouse pulling taut across her chest. Her dark skirt rode just a fraction higher on her thighs, and Dio, valiant soul that he was, immediately focused very hard on the dashboard.

“Mina,” he murmured, already feeling the heat crawl up his neck.

She smiled like the sun was her co-conspirator. “Yes, darling?”

With parasol in one hand and sin in her stride, she stepped out of the car. Her heels clicked with hypnotic rhythm against the mana-smoothed stone as she fell into step beside him. That tight, wicked skirt hugged every curve like a spell tailored to undo him. Her blouse, sheer in the right light, teased the barest shimmer of lace beneath. Her hair was swept up just enough to bare the elegant line of her throat—a throat Dio had kissed many, many times, and now could barely look at without getting ideas.

“You know I have to teach,” he said, voice already strained.

“I do know,” Mina replied sweetly. “That’s exactly why I wore something distracting. I thought of you when I put it on.”

He groaned under his breath.

As they crossed the courtyard, a few students glanced their way—quick, respectful glances. No one dared stare too long. Mina’s aura didn’t just command attention; it warned against it. There was a gleam in her eye and a promise in her posture. He’s mine. Try it and I’ll feed on your ego first.

At the grand lecture hall, still locked and humming faintly with wards, Mina turned and leaned back against the stone archway, one heel lifted behind her like she was posing for a painting. She glanced at the time crystal glowing above the doorway.

“Twenty minutes,” she purred, grabbing him gently by his tie and pulling him close. “That’s so much time.”

“Mina,” he warned, but it came out breathy. She knew that tone. She was winning.

She kissed him then—not rushed, not shy. She kissed him like they weren’t in public, like the past three years of parenting had only sharpened her hunger. She sucked his bottom lip gently before letting her tongue graze it, and one hand brushed the curve of his ear in a featherlight stroke that made Dio inhale sharply.

“You’re evil,” he whispered.

“I’m needy,” she corrected, nuzzling against his jaw. “And considerate. You need to be relaxed for your lecture, right? I could sit on your lap and purr a bit. Maybe nibble your neck. That always helps you focus.”

Dio cursed softly in a language older than sunlight.

“You’re seriously trying to ruin me before my first day subbing for Lady Libertas?”

She didn’t blink. “I want you flustered. I want every soulcrafter in that room to wonder why the air around you smells like ozone and me. I want you to walk into that classroom like you’ve been worshipped all morning. Because you should be.”

Dio’s hands found her waist without thinking, his fingers flexing against her curves in quiet desperation. His lips hovered near hers, his resistance starting to fray.

“I swear, if you keep this up…”

“You’ll what?” Mina teased, eyes gleaming.

He leaned in, his voice a low growl. “I’ll make you pay for it. Later.”

Her grin broke wide, all fangs and wicked delight. “Promise?” she asked, voice lilting with mock innocence. “Because I’ve been such a bad girl, and you haven’t corrected me in so long…”

He nearly lost it right there.

“I mean, really,” she added playfully, “I haven’t paid for anything since before the twins were born. Isn’t that terrible? I’m overdue.”

Just then, with a chiming click, the magical lock disengaged. The heavy doors glowed softly, then swung open to admit the first few early students.

Mina stepped back, instantly composed, smoothing her skirt and fixing her blouse like she hadn’t just shattered his composure and stirred up half a semester’s worth of tension in five minutes flat.

She kissed his cheek with featherlight grace.

“Break a leg, Professor Castillo,” she whispered, sultry and smug. “I’ll be right there in the front row… cheering you on.”

Dio exhaled like he’d just survived a battlefield.

“You’re going to kill me one day.”

Mina laughed softly as she turned to walk inside. “And you’ll die smiling.”

The lecture hall was a sleek amphitheater of glowing crystal and etched runes, every surface humming with stored intent. About thirty students sat in gentle rows of floating seats, notebooks and spellstones ready, eyes forward.

Dio stood at the front in his long sleeve shirt and slacks, his sleeves rolled up as he conjured an intricate soul-web diagram into the air. Strands of light bent and flickered as he spoke, his voice confident and clear.

“So,” he said, gesturing toward a glyph spinning slowly above his hand, “when you push a soul-thread too tightly against a corrupted anchor, what happens?”

A few hands shot up. He nodded toward a serious-looking elf girl with rose-gold eyes.

“It frays,” she answered. “Like overstretched silk. You risk soul-burn.”

“Exactly.” Dio smiled, pleased. “Which is why we always make sure not to do that” he said voice faltering sligtly

Mina had crossed her legs in the front row. Slowly.

She sat with an almost absurd air of grace—legs draped one over the other in a way that drew the eye, skirt riding just high enough to be scandalous. Her blouse had somehow shifted looser, baring one shoulder, and her hair had fallen over one eye in a tousled, deliberate mess of temptation.

She was sipping iced tea like it was bloodwine, licking her lips between sips.

Dio swallowed hard.

“and why is Soul burn bad,” he recovered, turning back to the board as his ears flushed pink.

Mina smirked. She didn’t even need to say anything. Just being there—lounging in his direct line of sight like a painting designed to unmake his concentration—was enough.

He paced, pointing to a new set of sigils. “Now, when you synchronize soul-temperament with your anchor—”

Mina tilted her head. She let one heel fall off her foot, dangling it on her toes.

Dio scowled at his wife but remained focused.

Some of the students exchanged amused glances. They all knew who she was. The vampire consort of the soulcraft prodigy. One of the scariest women on the continent. And right now, she was toying with him like a bored cat.

Mina leaned forward a little. Not enough to seem rude, but just enough that her cleavage became a distraction even to herself. She batted her lashes innocently when Dio looked at her.

He looked away immediately, trying to continue the lecture like his entire brain hadn’t short-circuited.

“..that brings us to the Weaver’s Trine. A method used to realign broken spirit channels through new threads,”

Click.

Mina was popping a hard candy into her mouth.

Click. Pop. Swirl.

Dio’s hand clenched the edge of the lectern.

She gave him a knowing look. The you’re doing great, sweetie—but I’m going to ruin you later kind of look.

By the time the class ended, Dio’s magic had shorted out twice, and he’d accidentally called soul-resonance “spirit-writhing,” which he would never live down.

When the final rune flickered off and the students began to pack up, Mina approached the podium, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

“You survived,” she whispered, sliding next to him. “Barely.”

Dio glared at her, flushed and disheveled. “You planned that.”

“I did,” Mina said brightly. “You looked so composed this morning. I had to fix it.”

He leaned down, lips brushing her ear. “When we get home…”

“Promise?” she murmured, pupils dilated, scent laced with barely restrained hunger.

They left the lecture hall to the sound of two dozen students whispering, “They’re so married.”

Dio stood at the front in tailored robes, his sleeves rolled up as he conjured an intricate soul-web diagram into the air. Strands of light bent and flickered as he spoke, his voice confident and clear.

“So,” he said, gesturing toward a glyph spinning slowly above his hand, “when you push a soul-thread too tightly against a corrupted anchor, what happens?”

A few hands shot up. He nodded toward a serious-looking elf girl with rose-gold eyes.

“It frays,” she answered. “Like overstretched silk. You risk soul-burn.”

“Exactly.” Dio smiled, pleased. “Which is why we—”

His voice faltered.

Mina had crossed her legs in the front row. Slowly.

She was sipping iced tea like it was bloodwine, licking her lips between sips.

Dio swallowed hard.

“We… uh… right—soul-burn,” he recovered, turning back to the board as his ears flushed pink.

Mina smirked. She didn’t even need to say anything. Just being there—lounging in his direct line of sight like a painting designed to unmake his concentration—was enough.

He paced, pointing to a new set of sigils. “Now, when you synchronize soul-temperament with your anchor—”

Mina tilted her head. She let one heel fall off her foot, dangling it on her toes.

Dio stammered mid-sentence.

Mina leaned forward a little. Not enough to seem rude, but just enough that her cleavage became a distraction even to herself. She batted her lashes innocently when Dio looked at her.

He looked away immediately, trying to continue the lecture like his entire brain hadn’t short-circuited.

“...uh, that brings us to the Weaver’s Trine. A method used to realign broken spirit channels through—”

Click.

Mina was popping a hard candy into her mouth.

Click. Pop. Swirl.

Dio’s hand clenched the edge of the lectern.

She gave him a knowing look. The you’re doing great, sweetie—but I’m going to ruin you later kind of look.

By the time the class ended, Dio’s magic had shorted out twice, and he’d accidentally called soul-resonance “spirit-writhing,” which he would never live down.

When the final rune flickered off and the students began to pack up, Mina approached the podium, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

“You survived,” she whispered, sliding next to him. “Barely.”

Dio glared at her, flushed and disheveled. “You planned that.”

“I did,” Mina said brightly. “You looked so composed this morning. I had to fix it.”

He leaned down, lips brushing her ear. “When we get home…”

“Promise?” she murmured, pupils dilated, scent laced with barely restrained hunger.

They left the lecture hall to the sound of two dozen students whispering, “They’re so married.”

The drive home was quiet—on the surface.

But in the tight space of the car, the air pulsed with tension. Lustful, electric, and barely leashed. Mina sat with her legs crossed, her parasol resting against her shoulder, eyes forward but smirking. She could feel it—the way Dio’s knuckles gripped the wheel a little too tight, the way his jaw flexed with every memory of her lips on his, her fingers on his chest, her scent clinging to his skin like a spell he couldn’t shake.

She felt it in her bones, and it made her press her thighs together beneath her skirt, the collar of her blouse suddenly too warm.

By the time they pulled into the driveway, the sun had dipped low, casting long shadows across the yard. Dio barely let the engine finish its sigh before he was out of his seat. He circled the car like a predator and—without a word—scooped Mina into his arms, parasol and all.

She yelped, laughter escaping her lips before being swallowed by a sharp inhale as he gripped her firmly, one hand sliding beneath her thighs, the other cupping the curve of her ass like he owned it. Which, in fairness, he kind of did.

Her pulse thrummed in her ears.

The moment the front door clicked shut behind them, Mina was pinned.

Her back hit the wood with a gentle thud, Dio’s arms caging her in, his body a wall of heat pressed flush to hers. His eyes were molten—furious, focused, and hungry in a way that stole the air from her lungs. It was that same look he used to wear in the ring, back when he was feared for his fists and his fire. Back when she first started falling for him.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he murmured, voice velvet-dipped flame.

Mina gave him a slow, sultry smile, her lashes fluttering. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Professor.”

He didn’t return the smile.

Instead, he leaned in, his breath a slow exhale against her lips. “You almost made me incinerate a soul-web in front of three grad students.”

Her finger traced the line of buttons down his shirt. “And yet, you held it together so well. So composed. So…” she let the word drip like honey, “disciplined.”

Dio’s eyes darkened.

“You remember what I said earlier?” he asked, voice low.

“That when we got home, I was yours?” she whispered, her breath hitching.

“Exactly.”

Without warning, he scooped her into his arms again, this time with purpose—predatory and deliberate. She gasped, arms flinging around his neck as he carried her through the house without breaking stride. Past the tidy kitchen, the dim-lit hallway, the toy basket tucked discreetly in the corner of the living room. The home they’d built together.

He kicked the bedroom door open and stepped inside.

Only then did he set her down, shrugging off his coat in a single sharp motion, fingers already at the buttons of his shirt.

Mina didn’t move.

Her legs felt like melted wax, her mouth dry, heart hammering against her ribs.

Then he said it—calm, quiet, and absolute:

“Strip.”

She swallowed.

There was no edge of cruelty to the command. Just the raw authority of a man who knew her. Who saw her. Who wanted her completely. And she obeyed—not out of submission, but out of trust. Of desire. Of the deep, aching hunger to be his.

She unwrapped herself slowly, peeling away silk and lace, giving him a show as much as a surrender. And Dio watched, unmoving, eyes fixed like she was a constellation unfolding before him.

By the time she stood bare in front of him, his shirt was undone, hanging off his shoulders. The tension in him was visible—jaw tight, chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths.

He circled her like a man walking the perimeter of a sacred altar. His fingers ghosted along her skin—the dip of her spine, the swell of her hip, the delicate column of her throat.

“You drove me mad today,” he said, voice hoarse. “You designed your entire morning to mess with me.”

“And what if I did?” she asked, chin lifted in soft defiance.

“Then it’s only fair,” he growled, catching her waist and lifting her effortlessly, “that I return the favor.”

He tossed her onto the bed with a strength that made her breath catch—and then he was on her. Not rough, not rushed, but consuming. He worshiped her with kisses that branded and hands that remembered every inch of her body. He whispered her name like a vow and made her feel wanted in every way a woman could be.

He devoured her.

He claimed her.

He left her trembling, overflowing, her body slick with the echoes of pleasure and the unbearable sweetness of being known.

So much so, she half-laughed, half-moaned into his shoulder, “Dio… if you keep going, I’m going to end up pregnant again.”

He didn’t stop.

Every kiss said: Let them come. Let there be more of you.

By the time the stars spun behind her eyes and her voice cracked from saying his name like a prayer, she curled against him, her chest rising and falling with soft, sated breaths. Her hair was a halo of wild silk, her skin kissed red where he’d adored her most.

Dio held her close, strong arms wrapped around her trembling frame, his lips brushing her temple with reverent care.

“You,” she whispered, voice hoarse and full of wonder, “are dangerous.”

He chuckled, low and smug. “So are you. You’re the real menace.”

Mina laughed softly, sleepy and glowing, her fingers tracing lazy shapes on his chest.

“I love you, Dio.”

“I know,” he said, brushing her hair back. “And I love you more than ever. Every day.”

They fell asleep wrapped around each other, the moon casting silver light through the curtains. Somewhere down the hall, their twins slept soundly, unaware that their parents had just reminded each other why love—true love—was a force of nature.

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